


The Peverell Dilemma

by deadptarmigan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disguise, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 135,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadptarmigan/pseuds/deadptarmigan
Summary: Harry begins to realize he doesn't know his best mate's little sister very well at all.(This summary is going to change just as soon as I figure out a better one)





	1. Chapter 1

Wind rattled the windows in Ron's old room. The old ghoul in the attic gave an answering moan, making the little family of frogs that lived in an enlarged tank set in the corner croak. Despite the noise and the rain – or maybe because they were such normal, familiar sounds – Harry Potter felt drowsy and at peace listening to all of that. He'd been playing with an old Snitch he'd nicked earlier from the Weasley family Quidditch set, but for now his hand was draped over his knee.

It was still something Harry had to get used to, being able to have restful moments like these. The war, the Horcruxes, being in hiding… it had been a weight on his shoulders and an undercurrent in his thoughts for so long that every once in a while, he jolted.

"It's been over two years, mate," said Ron. "You've got to learn to relax."

It was true. Harry's twenty-fourth birthday had come and gone; it'd been well over two years since that horrible day in June. Thanks to Dumbledore, Harry had been healed. He could – and did – relax. Harry squeezed the Snitch, and felt the wings beat against his palm. After a second or two of movement, it went still again. It was a very old Snitch.

Ron went back to the latest issue of  _The Turnip_.

Harry shut his eyes again. The rain made him want to pull out Ron's old camp bed, stretch out on it, and take a nap.

"So why don't you?" Ron asked.

"Sorry, didn't mean to say that out loud," Harry muttered. He tossed the Snitch in the air. It was slow to move, as though it were surprised to find itself free. It'd been caught in Harry's hand for hours now; it probably had no idea what to do now that it was free. It bobbed in the air in front of his nose, as though asking:  _Are you going to just catch me right away?_ Slowly, its gossamer wings sped up, and it zig-zagged across the room.

The door opened without warning, and a mane of red hair appeared.

"Mum wants to know what you want – hey, I was looking for that!" said Ginny.

The Snitch whirled past her and she caught it after a couple of swipes.

Harry raised his eyebrow. Even an old Snitch was hard to catch; not everyone could do it.

"Mum wants to know what you want for dinner," said Ginny. She slipped the Snitch into the pocket of her dress.

"Aren't we celebrating  _your_ birthday?" Ron threw his copy of  _The Turnip_ aside. "Why am  _I_ choosing what we're having?"

Ginny's birthday was why Harry and Ron had come to the Burrow in the first place. The youngest Weasley was twenty years old, and Molly and Arthur had summoned all their children ("And of course, you're part of our family, too, Harry, dear," Molly always said whenever she addressed an invitation to Ron.) home to celebrate. Even Charlie was here from the Ukraine, where he now lived.

While Harry was distracted, Ginny had offered an explanation as to why everyone was getting their own favorites for her birthday. "I can't believe you're reading," she said. Harry had noticed one of her favorite things was to take the mickey out of her brother.

"It's  _The Turnip_ ," Ron said defensively. "And I read, just not as much as Hermione."

Ginny smirked at him. "What, did she teach you how?"

Ron tossed a pillow at her, while Harry laughed.

Ginny sidled out of the room once Harry and Ron told her what they wanted for dinner. She took the Snitch with her. "So what's  _The Turnip_ got to say this week?" Harry asked.

"Mentions that situation in Russia that Charlie told us about," said Ron. "With all the vampires; apparently the Russian Ministry – or whatever the department's called over there – had to go in and put 'em all down. Lots of people are upset about it."

 _The Turnip_ was a relatively new publication that provided the information that  _The Daily Prophet_ simply ignored.  _The Quibbler_ had once provided this service – briefly – but the death of Xeno Lovegood had put an end to that. Later, Harry'd found out that Igor Karkaroff had been sent by Voldemort to kill him. Both had died in the blast of an exploding erumpent horn. Whoever wrote for  _The Turnip_ had learned that terrible lesson; everything was anonymous and untraceable. None of them would die simply for printing the wrong sort of news.

Harry let out a tiny sigh, hoping Ron couldn't hear it over the rain currently pounding on the window.

"What're you sighing about?" Ron asked.

Harry scratched at his leg, wishing Ginny hadn't taken the Snitch. "Just thinking nothing is like I expected," Harry said honestly. There was no reason to lie; Ron and Hermione were privy to his dissatisfaction with the state of the wizarding world. They felt the same way. They'd spent half their lives dealing with Voldemort in one way or another; now that he was gone, it felt like a betrayal that the corruption in the Ministry and in the populace was still there.

"You owe me a galleon," Ron informed him. "You promised you'd give me a galleon if you started brooding."

Harry knew this. "I'll give it to you when we get back to Grimmauld Place," he said. It wouldn't be until tomorrow; everyone was staying over for Ginny's birthday.

The door opened again; Hermione walked in.

Ron flung himself off his bed, and at his girlfriend. Harry, used to these displays by now, looked out the window. His two best friends greeted each other in a decidedly thorough way. His gaze caught on  _The Turnip_. He'd already read this particular issue. Ron was more interested in the international news section, given both Hermione's and Percy's jobs, but Harry preferred the more domestic column that fearlessly illuminated the corruption in the Ministry, and the darker events that continued to plague Britain. Harry pulled out his wand and summoned the paper toward him—

"Harry!" Hermione said, laughing. "That was so lazy! You could've moved three inches and just grabbed it."

"I didn't  _want_  to move three inches," Harry said. Hermione could think he was lazy all she wanted. After months of being in bed, it had become natural to him to do pretty much everything with magic. He stood up, and brushed the back of his robes. They'd bunched around his trousers, and he adjusted them.

"I'm going to let you two talk," Harry informed them, and headed out the door. Hermione, who worked for the Ministry (she'd been the only one of the three of them who could swallow it), had been gone for over a week. They needed to reacquaint themselves with each other without Harry lurking in the background, the way he'd been the entire time they'd been falling in love with each other.

He clattered down the stairs.

George caught him by the elbow and yanked him into the twin' room. Fred was already there; they were both wearing identical looks of amusement.

"We have your antidote for you," Fred said.

"It's time for your monthly medicine," George said cheerfully.

"Open up," said Fred.

Harry, resigned, and did as they asked. It was easier than arguing with them, and they were technically doing him a favor. George unstoppered a vivid green bottle, and poured the contents into Harry's mouth. It tasted bitter and slightly musty; it was a taste nearly impossible to get used to, but the alternative was far worse. "Have I told you two lately that giving you a thousand galleons to start up your joke shop was one of the soundest decisions I've ever made?" Harry said, once the urge to gag had passed.

"Not lately," said George.

"But we know," said Fred.

They were both warmly condescending, and Harry sighed out through his nose. "Thanks," he said. They'd actually been easy on him this month. Usually they were much more obnoxious.

"Dinner's ready!"

Molly'd magicked her voice to make it sound like she was standing right next to them. Harry headed out of the Fred and George's room; they followed right behind him. Everyone gathered relatively quickly around a wooden table heavily laden with food. Ginny was at the head of the table, in between her parents. It was madness for the first few minutes, as everyone grabbed at what they wanted, knocking each other's hands out of the way, sending good-natured threat, and being scolded by their mother whenever a swear was issued.

"I did not raise you to speak like that, Charles Weasley," Molly said sternly.

"Sorry, Mum," said Charlie, ducking his head.

Harry bit back a laugh. Very little had changed since he'd first started coming to the Burrow. Molly still had the ability to cow her sons. Charlie subdued dragons for a living, but ducked his head when his mother scolded him. He shared a quick, laughing glance with Ginny.

Harry felt some tension release during the dinner. The Weasleys were at their best – they usually were, when they were trying to impress Ginny, or make Ginny laugh. Harry'd noticed this over the years, and decided it was because she was the baby of the family by several years, and also the only girl. It was very entertaining to watch.

They'd moved to the sitting room. Charlie and Bill were discussing something in low tones. Harry had a feeling that Charlie was discussing the Russian vampire situation; the Ukraine was heavily affected by the decisions of the Russian Ministry. Even though the Muggle countries had split apart, the Russian Ministry still controlled a large number of witches and wizards. The Ukraine was still under the authority of the Russians.

"Bill! Charlie!" Molly said sharply. She'd noticed.

"Mum," Ginny said, embarrassed.

"I didn't want any discussion of that," Molly paid her daughter no heed. "Not on Ginny's birthday."

"Mum, I don't mind, really—"

"Sorry, Ginny," said Charlie.

Molly had always been ferocious about keeping the terribleness of the war from affecting Ginny, and even though Voldemort had been gone two years, she was still at it. Harry understood. That business with the Horcrux diary during his fifth year… that had given him nightmares, and he'd been fifteen. Ginny'd only been a first year. No wonder Molly wanted to protect her, but Harry did feel that she often went a little over the top.

"Mum, I'm  _twenty years old_ ," Ginny said. Harry hid a smile behind his mug of coffee.

"It's your birthday, dear," Molly said. "I didn't want anything – anything depressing to come up."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry drifted over to Arthur. Despite Molly's admonition, Harry and Arthur had formed a bond over their favorite  _Turnip_ articles. This morning's column had been right up Arthur's alley: a store in London had been supposedly haunted, it was a joke to the Muggle news, the column said, but it turned out that someone had enchanted the mannequins to do increasingly disruptive things during the dead of night. The article had ended on a questioning, troubled note. If the charm hadn't been taken off the mannequins, how much more destructive would they have become?

"Did you read the new Seeker article?" Arthur asked him in a low, low voice. Instead of going by their real names, the writers had codenames, much like the contributors to Potterwatch once had. Harry's favorite writer at  _The Turnip_ was Seeker.

"Yeah," Harry said. He knew Arthur would have been as interested as he was. "Is your department doing anything about it?"

"As much as we can," said Arthur. "You know the situation with the Ministry. We have to treat everything like this as though it's a harmless prank." There was a low note of disgust in his voice. "It's a sad day when a newspaper called  _The Turnip_ does a better job of protecting the Muggles than the damn Ministry of Magic."

"Last week, Remus mentioned the Ministry  _still_ hasn't done anything to negate the anti-werewolf legislation Umbridge drafted."

" _Umbridge_ ," Arthur growled.

Harry caught Ginny's eye. She was listening intently. It was almost a decade since Umbridge, Tom Riddle's diary, and the Chamber of Secrets. But the memories Harry had of it were still painful for  _him_ , and he hadn't been the one—

"Arthur!" Molly said sharply.

Arthur's ears turned bright red. "Sorry, love," he said to Molly. Then, to Harry: "We'll talk more. Later."

But they never had a chance to reconnect.

"If Mum's going to keep treating me like I'm about three years old, I'm going to need a drink," Ginny announced.

"I don't treat you like you're  _three_ —"

"Mum's just trying—"

"—give her a hard time—"

Ginny just rolled her eyes and summoned the firewhiskey.

Harry hid another smile. He happened to think that Ginny was very patient with her over-protective family. He'd been around her often enough that he could tell when they were annoying her. Harry couldn't blame her; he wouldn't want to be coddled either. But Ron had explained it to him long, long ago: "None of us want Ginny hurt. Why d'you think we're fighting so hard?" That'd been around when Ginny was twelve or thirteen, and none of her siblings or her parents had abandoned that attitude.

Two glasses of firewhiskey later, Harry was next to Ginny again.

"Thanks for the Bludger bat," Ginny said cheerfully.

"You're welcome," Harry said. He didn't really know what position Ginny liked to play, but he  _did_ know that she loved Quidditch. One of the Weasleys had told him that she'd always wanted to play professionally. It was the firewhiskey that made him say it: "Maybe you'll even be able to play professionally one day! Just need to practice."

She looked at him sharply. "Oh,  _thank you,_ Harry," she gushed. "And maybe one day they'll let you join the Auror Academy! After a lot of work and practice, of course."

Harry's mouth slowly fell open, and a burst of laughter came out. "Oh, God," he said. "I deserved that."

She snickered at him. "It's all right, Harry. Just  _don't_ start getting patronizing like the rest of that lot." She gestured around at her family.

"I won't do it again," he promised.

Harry trudged up the stairs, tired and bleary-eyed. Blissfully, there was nothing on his mind other than that it had been a good idea of Molly's, not to allow serious discussion.  _It's good to have a break_ , he thought, as he pulled out the camp bed, and conjured blankets, sheets, and pillows. It was good to be in a safe, warm place. His thoughts drifted and scattered as he fell asleep, listening to the rain that still drummed down on the roof of the crooked little house.

Despite the late night, he woke early the next morning. He hadn't heard Ron come to up, but he was snoring in the next bed when Harry opened his eyes. It was still early, he could tell. Harry almost decided to roll over and go back to sleep, but decided to take a shower before everyone else was up.

He was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he bumped into Ginny on the landing.

"Oof," she said.

"Oh… sorry, Ginny," he said lamely. He yawned. "Still – still sleepy."

"Well, it's early," she said, amused. Her hair was damp, but she must've done some sort of drying charm on it. Harry watched, blearily, as the wet strands dried with remarkable speed.

"Yeah," he said, after a belated pause. That would be a really handy spell to know. He knew one that dried everything right up, but it always left his clothes the worse for wear.  _I should ask her what that is,_ he thought.

"I think you need some coffee," she told him.

"You're probably right," he said. "Where are you off to so early?"

"Work," she said simply.

It was a few seconds later that Harry realized he was standing between her and her old room, where she stayed when she was at the Burrow overnight. "Right, yeah," he said, moving to the side. He smiled at her. "Have fun at the shop, don't let Fred and George turn you into anything."

She nodded, and moved by him. "Have a good day, Harry," she said over her shoulder.

Harry watched her go up the stairs, unable to help feeling slightly envious. The twins had given her a part-time job as soon as she'd graduated Hogwarts. True, it had been an owl post delivery service until after Voldemort was gone, but now Weasleys Wizard Wheezes had three different locations. Ron always said that he didn't think Ginny was completely happy with the job, and Harry suspected he was right, but at least she  _had_ one.

Harry had gold in his Gringotts account, and various tasks Dumbledore gave him. He tried not to examine them too hard, because he suspected Dumbledore kept him busy out of pity.

 _Stop it_ , he ordered himself.

The shower he took dispelled the sudden gloom, and he was much more cheerful when he wandered down into the kitchen. Molly was already up, bustling about, and Arthur sat at the small breakfast nook with a cup of coffee and this morning's issue of  _The Daily Prophet_.

"Can I help with anything, Molly?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no, dear," said Molly. "Sit down and have some coffee, won't you?"

Harry did as he was invited to do. Arthur immediately lowered the newspaper. The front cover showed the Canadian Quidditch team. They were the favorite to win the Quidditch World Cup this year, and had been enjoying a lot of press coverage.

"Anything on that Muggle department store?" Harry asked.

"No, the  _Prophet_ is garbage as usual," Arthur said, disgusted. "It's all just Quidditch and lies."

Harry nodded. He hadn't expected anything else. During the long years of the war, the  _Prophet_ had undergone several shifts. First, it denied that anything was going on; instead, they'd painted Harry as starved for attention, and lying about what he'd seen. Then, once Voldemort had been unmasked, they'd turned shrill about public safety, churning out advice that Dumbledore had called "ridiculous poppycock" on more than one occasion. Finally, in the last years, Death Eaters had seized control of the paper, and it'd become a propaganda machine. Only  _The Quibbler_ had written the truth, and that paper had died with Xeno Lovegood.

"Anything from  _Turnip_?" Harry asked. It was another pointless question. While the  _Prophet_ came out every morning, as the name of it promised,  _The Turnip_ had a more eccentric publishing schedule. Instead of padding its contents with tribble and editorials,  _The Turnip_ didn't bother. Instead, they packed it with the essentials.

"Nothing yet," Arthur said with regret.

"I read the Seeker article just this morning," said Molly. "I didn't have a chance to yesterday, what with Ginny's birthday. Arthur, is it true the Ministry's tied your hands?"

"Of course they did," Arthur told her. "I was given orders not to pursue it. Rufus Scrimgeour told me personally that I was to treat it as some recent Hogwarts grads just having a lark." He spread his hands wide. "What can I do to oppose of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement? I can't do anything."

"Officially," Harry murmured.

Arthur gave him a little smile. "Officially."

It was just then that the twins stumbled into the kitchen, looking even more tired than Harry'd felt before his shower. Their eyes were rimmed in red, and if they were anyone else, Harry might've thought they'd been having a good cry up in their room. But he knew them well enough to know it was from drinking last night, not crying.

"Morning," they mumbled. Fred shuffled over to the coffee, and George slumped into a chair.

"Nice of you two to have a lie-in while you make Ginny go do your work for you," Harry said, chuckling.

"Ginny?" Fred said, as though he'd never heard of such a person.

"Yeah. Small, red-headed. Used to live here with you? I ran into her on the landing, she said she was headed to work."

"We didn't send Ginny out to the shop early," George said. "We're not monsters."

"Must be her other job," Fred grunted.

"What other job?" Molly said curiously.

"One of our customers asked her to help her out at her shop," said George.

"George! What  _kind_ of customer?" Molly said at once. "You just left your baby sister to—"

"Keep your hair on, Mum, the woman who hired her was old and dotty, and looking for someone to help with filing and taking care of the kneazles."

"Oh," said Molly, deflating at once. "Old? And a woman?"

"Honestly, woman, you think we're idiots," Fred said with a huge sigh. "It was a dotty old woman."

"She was dressed like a sunflower," George put in.

"Had her arms full of beads—"

"—had her pet kneazle with her on a leash—"

"Ginny thinks she might even get hired full time," George put in.

Harry felt another wave of envy, and retreated from the conversation. He was content to listen to the Weasleys banter with each other. It distracted him from his own thoughts. Harry didn't hate his life. In fact, after everything that had happened with Voldemort, he was quite grateful he still had a life.  _It's just that it's not… how I thought it would be_ , Harry thought.

When he was first forced to consider possible career prospects in his fifth year, he'd immediately decided on Auror. That had always been in the back of his mind, even during the long years of trying to chip away at Voldemort's sundered soul. But once Harry'd recovered, he'd realized the last thing he wanted to do was join a Ministry that had allowed certain Death Eaters to buy themselves out of trouble, even as they threw people like Stan Shunpike – who'd been Imperiused – into Azkaban simply because they couldn't afford the bribes. How could he work for an organization like that? He couldn't.

Harry had a reasonable amount of gold, but he didn't have a  _purpose_. Voldemort was gone. The Order of the Phoenix had not been disbanded, but everyone had mostly gone back to their regular lives.

He'd even tried to get a regular job, the type that Ginny had. Not a career, but just something to do. But the years of propaganda against him, plus the fact he refused to tell anyone – not even Ron and Hermione – how the final confrontation with Voldemort had happened, made it difficult to even be out in public, let alone find someone to hire him.

"Harry, dear, are you all right?" Molly's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Oh… yes, I'm fine," he said. "Just a little tired."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

But it was a lie that only grew. Over the next month, Harry's restlessness grew. He was helping out at Hogwarts two or three days a week; the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor preferred not to engage the students in dueling and was always grateful when Harry was there to do it for him. It was one of the ways he helped Dumbledore, but it just… wasn't enough.

It was these feelings, he was sure, that led him to a trickle of relief when he read the title of the newest Seeker column: " _DARK MARKS SPOTTED ALL OVER THE ENGLAND."_

"What do you make of this?" he demanded of Dumbledore thirty minutes later.

"I am very concerned."

But Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking as unflappable as ever. A kettle was pouring hot water into tea cups for them. Harry felt caged, pinned down, and could not seem to sit down longer than a few seconds.

Dumbledore seemed to understand his need to move. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

It was morning, and most of the students were in their first classes. It  _looked_ empty, but there was a magical energy in the air that Harry knew came from so many witches and wizards performing magic. It didn't feel like this over the summer; over the summer, Hogwarts was like a shell that had been emptied of its filling.

"Did you read the entire article?" Dumbledore asked, once they'd reached the grounds.

"Yes," Harry said.

"So you know it is not the true Dark Mark," Dumbledore said. He flicked his wand, and said, almost lazily: " _Nebula_." Fog immediately rose up from the earth around him, drifting into the air, and it was suddenly too difficult to see more than a foot in front of him.

"No, just carved into stuff… not floating over a house that's had all its inhabitants murdered."  _Thank God,_ Harry added silently. "But it's still disturbing."

"I agree," said Dumbledore.

Harry, unable to help himself, unleashed all of his frustrations about the state of the Ministry – and, indeed, the wizarding world. "And of course the Ministry was bought off. We still have  _Death Eaters_ running around free. Of course we're seeing – seeing Dark Marks cropping up on trees, and carved into street lamps." What he didn't say was that he hated there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't an Auror. He didn't  _want_ to be an Auror, not with the Ministry the way it was, constantly spinning real events into a narrative they wanted to espouse. He couldn't just – just—

"Have you thought of going to work for  _The Turnip_?" Dumbledore asked. His voice was oddly muffled by the fog. It swirled weirdly around his long hair and beard, giving him an otherworldly look.

"I – what?" Harry said blankly. "Work for  _The Turnip_?"

"This Seeker fellow appears to be doing exactly what  _you_ want to be doing. Tracking down darkness and shedding light on it," Dumbledore pointed out. "It's no secret that you've been restless and dissatisfied lately. To be quite honest, you remind me of Sirius."

Harry's jaw worked. Sirius had been both reckless and dissatisfied, it was true. It had led to his death. Dumbledore was giving him a warning.

"You think I'm like Sirius," Harry said. It was an accusation.

"No, but I do think that now that you are fully recovered from that terrible curse, you are now feeling like you ought to be doing what you've done half your life," Dumbledore said tranquilly. He paused so suddenly that Harry nearly walked into him. "And that's searching out corruption, even if that corruption does not have Voldemort as its root cause."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "The Seeker never mentions me," he said quietly. "He never writes articles, with those – those—"

"I think the phrase you want here is 'vile speculations'," said Dumbledore.

"Yeah, those vile speculations," Harry said, swallowing. It was one of the things about the column that made Harry like it so much. It'd been publishing for years, and not one time had the Seeker ever mentioned Harry Potter. If he tried to get a job with  _The Turnip_ , he worried that would change. He spoke this thought out loud to Dumbledore.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. He said that spell again, and the fog thickened. "Do you know why I made the fog, Harry?"

"Erm—"

Harry did not know why, actually.

"I like privacy," Dumbledore said.

"Oh, I thought you just liked showing me how powerful you are," Harry said cheekily.

Dumbledore chuckled. "We are doing nothing wrong. We are not planning any nefarious deeds. And yet… sometimes it is easier to have private discussions. To know that no one is looking out the window, wondering at what we are talking about. The fog is offering us a disguise."

Harry thought about this for long moments. "You want – you think I should join  _The Turnip_  in disguise?" He asked. Harry was almost positive this was what Dumbledore meant, but—

"That's exactly what I think," Dumbledore said, warmly amused. "Here, look," he said. Some of the fog drifted away, and Harry could see a thick tree trunk no more than a foot away from where they were standing. In the center of it, was a carved Dark Mark. No crude carving, this. It was perfectly etched. He could even see the scales on the snake that issued forth from the skull.

Harry could not help but take a step back, pulling out his wand. Dumbledore's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "These aren't just carvings," Harry said angrily.

"I know," Dumbledore said.

"Dark magic did this," Harry said.

"Yes, it did," Dumbledore said.

Harry swore.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said. "If wishes came true, mine would be that you could settle down to the life you deserve. Calm. Peaceful. Without even a hint of the darkness that plagued you for so long."

But Harry would much rather  _purpose_ , than  _calm_ and  _peaceful_. At least not the peace and calm he'd experienced the last two years. It was calm because he mostly stayed inside. It was peaceful because he wasn't  _doing_ anything. He stared at the Dark Mark.

There was something else now. Something was settling over him like a cloak. It was purpose, he realized.

He looked at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked at him.

"So how would an anonymous bloke go about joining  _The Turnip_?" Harry asked.


	2. Chapter 2

They returned to Dumbledore's office.

Harry was relaxed enough to enjoy his tea this time. The office was as busy and bustling as it ever was; the portraits conversed with each other in low, serious tones, two of the silvery instruments on a side-table had brightly colored smoke issuing out of them, and another whistled a song Harry thought might be from the Weird Sisters.

"I have, of course, made some inquiries," Dumbledore said. "Of course, I was curious. A newspaper devoted to combating the Dark Arts? It seemed odd that it was not run by anyone I knew. While I never discovered who is behind it all, and the more information I discovered, the more I believe that it is run by people with excellent moral fiber."

Harry waited. Dumbledore had said all of these things before.

"Forgive an old man, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I know I've told you all of these things… but I find it helps me to preface my thoughts…"

"I understand, sir," said Harry.

As far as Harry knew,  _The Turnip_ was only three years old. Unlike Potterwatch, the radio program that had focused most uncomfortably on Harry,  _The Turnip_ never even mentioned his name. The first year, it had focused on all the things that happened that were never connected to Voldemort; minor instances of the Dark Arts. A lot of witches and wizards – who may not have been Death Eaters – had been empowered to use the Dark Arts. There'd been an illegal potions ring at Hogwarts; Harry'd been horrified to learn the details of  _that._ He'd thought Molly was going to be sick, and all she'd been able to say was how glad she was that Ginny hadn't known a thing about it.

Ron had joked that whoever was running  _The Turnip_  was part of a shadow organization even more secret than the Order of the Phoenix. After three years, Harry was inclined to agree. Underneath the sense of purpose, Harry felt a quiver of excitement to know –  _finally know –_ who was behind it all.

"I must say I would be happier knowing who is behind all of this," Dumbledore said, sipping at his tea. Harry figured his thoughts must be fairly easy to read if Dumbledore could pluck them out of the air like that.

"Yeah, me too," said Harry.

"Well," said Dumbledore. "I suppose we need to get the details of your deception hammered out."

"Wait – what?" Harry said.

"If you are going in disguise, you will need a new name, and a new background," Dumbledore said patiently.

"I – right," said Harry. Of course, he knew that. He'd spent five years of his life using Polyjuice to transform himself into others, for his own safety. "Should I go with Barry?" That was one he'd used often; the Muggle boy who lived in Ottery St. Catchpole was easy to find and seemed to have plentiful hair.

"Unfortunately, the Muggle boy we used to use for this purpose is no longer available," Dumbledore said.

"Why, what happened?"

"He's in Muggle jail for running some complex cons, involving theft and fraud, as best I understand it," Dumbledore said. "Muggles have these small cards they use in lieu of coins—"

"Credit cards," Harry supplied, despite the fact it had been nearly fifteen years since he'd seen one.

"In an interesting turn of events, Barry had taken to calling himself Harry while he attempted to get old ladies to give him their important Muggle information," Dumbledore said. "So perhaps we weren't as careful as we thought."

While Harry contemplated this, Dumbledore sat back in his chair, watching him.

"In fact, I don't think Polyjuice is necessary or wise at this point," Dumbledore said. "While it is a more complete transformation, it might be difficult for you to remember to take a gulp of it every hour on the hour. I do believe I can come up with a better solution. Now, what you need to do is figure out what name you want to go by. First and last."

"James Evans," Harry said immediately.

"Exactly the name I thought you'd choose. Choose a different one."

"But – why?"

"You're forgetting how famous you are, and how famous your family is," Dumbledore told him. "The name 'James Evans' is a veritable shout from the rooftops that you are Harry Potter in disguise."

"James Black?" Harry said tentatively.

Dumbledore just arched a brow at him.

Harry's mind was blank. It seemed that he'd only had two suggestions in him: James Evans and James Black. "What about my grandfather's name?" Harry suggested.

"You wish to go by Fleamont?"

"Oh – right," Harry said. Had he ever even  _known_ his grandfather's name? Surely, he'd asked at one point, hadn't he? He knew his maternal grandparents, but was this the first time he'd ever heard the name of the wizard who'd fathered James Potter? But the name 'Fleamont' had no familiarity attached to it. It might as well belong to a stranger. He shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized Dumbledore was talking to him.

"Perhaps it would be easier if I named your new identity?"

Harry shrugged.

"Augustus," Dumbledore said promptly. "Augustus Peverell. August for short, perhaps."

Harry turned that over in his mind. "All right," he said. "No one is going to think Peverell is an odd name?" he asked. "They won't trace it back to the Hallows?"

"It's a fairly obscure reference," said Dumbledore. "Despite evidence to the contrary, not many people look at nursery rhymes and children's stories, think they are true, and spend their lives trying to hunt them down. 'Peverell' is not a commonly known name. And I think you have just enough association with it that you will be able to remember it."

Harry decided that Dumbledore had some doubts as to his capability of maintaining a disguise. "So… you said name, and backstory? So, who is August Peverell?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Several days later, Harry went to Diagon Alley.

This was a fairly normal occurrence. What was not normal was the fact that no one flicked a glance his way, did a double take, and started staring. He nearly bumped into a grumpy old witch, and instead of backing away (either out of awe or fear, depending on how much she believed what came out of the  _Daily Prophet_ ), she said: "Sod off, you little blighter". The anonymity, along with the light drizzle that had given everything a wet and shiny look, made Diagon Alley slightly more magical than it usually was.

For the first time, Harry was out in the world as August Peverell. He was still tall – Dumbledore said a difference in height was one of the most difficult things to overcome when maintaining a disguise. But his hair, which had been longer than he'd ever had it, was trimmed back. It was auburn and tidy. His eyes were now a piercing blue, and he rather thought he looked like a young Dumbledore.

He went straight to the Owl Post Office.

His letter to the editors at  _The Turnip_  was as formal as he could make it. He listed August's qualifications (mostly based on overseas adventures Dumbledore promised he would help corroborate), pretending he had a background in writing, and made himself sound as trustworthy as he could. Almost as a postscript, Harry'd added:  _I admire the work you do at_ The Turnip.  _I would appreciate the chance to join you as you work to bring to light the darkness that affects Muggles and wizards alike._  It was the truest sentence in the whole letter, and Harry hoped it would sway the editors in his favor.

Harry chose the least ostentatious owl he could find at the Owl Post Office. It was a grey and white owl, and was neither one of the small and fast owls, nor one of the brawny owls that were used for heavy packages rather than speed. It was nondescript, mundane, and perfect. Harry felt like humming when he stepped out of the building and watched the grey and white owl wing its way north.

Some impulse had him walking over to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was a large shop located on Horizont Alley and was three stories of jokes. Children and adults alike crowded the whole building, looking through the inventory with identical glee. Harry watched, amused, as three giggling witches crossed the age line into the section that held items that were not for those under seventeen.

George was at the front, juggling three different boxes of fireworks. There was a sign next to him:  _HELP WANTED_.

"You're hiring?" Harry asked, surprised.

George eyed him.

Harry felt the back of his neck start to burn as he realized he'd just spoken to George as though he knew him. "I just – er – you know."

"What are your qualifications?" George asked, businesslike.

"Erm – I wasn't – I just thought you had someone…" Harry gave an exaggerated look around. "Isn't this a  _family_ business?"

George's eyes narrowed on him.

"I just thought you – er – had a sister who worked here…?" Harry did not like or understand the suddenly predatory look in George's eyes.

"Why're you asking questions about my sister?"

Fred materialized at Harry's side. "What's going on, George?"

"Oh nothing, this chap here is asking questions," said George. There was a pleasant tone in his voice that was so false, Harry had to marvel at the skill of it.

"Questions about what?" Fred said, in that same tone of voice.

"About Ginny, of course," said George.

"I wasn't asking questions about Ginny," Harry said, exasperated.

"Oh, do you  _know_ her?" Fred said. "Because we don't allow just any customer to call her Ginny. She's  _Miss Weasley_ to you."

"Fine, then," Harry said, wishing with all his might that he'd not come in here in disguise. He'd never seen the twins like this, it was like they were pack animals on a scent, and Harry was the prey. "I just didn't know you were hiring… I swear." He took a step back and spread his fingers.

"The last chap who tried to get too close to Ginny did  _not_ like what we did to discourage his interest." Fred was still speaking in that light, pleasant tone.

"He had to crawl out the door," George said. "It wasn't pretty, all those tentacles coming off him."

"Ha ha," Harry said. "Look, I was just interested in the job."

They looked at him.

Harry left the store. The twins were the most affable of the Weasley brothers; they were more prone to pranks and laughs than anger and threats. Harry was slightly stunned at the animosity he'd provoked in them and wondered if the customer they'd hexed had actually made inappropriate advances toward Ginny, or if they were just naturally so – so protective. Harry hoped it was the former, for Ginny's sake. If not, Merlin help the poor chap Ginny ever brought home as her boyfriend.

His enjoyment of his own anonymity had faded a bit, but it returned the further he got away from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. He enjoyed a quiet drink at The Hopping Pot and watched loads of people coming and going (not one of whom took particular notice of him). Night had fallen by the time he got back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry was deeply impressed by Dumbledore's transfiguration work. He took out a small white pebble from his pocket and held it up in front of him. The mirror showed him August Peverell: tall, auburn-haired, blue-eyed, and scarless. As soon as he set the pebble down on the counter, he returned to being Harry Potter. The transformation never ceased to amaze him, despite the fact he'd seen it nearly a hundred times as Dumbledore created it and made adjustments to it.

August Peverell was not nearly as restless as Harry. August did not have a lightning scar that drew attention. His past was not nearly the twisted thing that Harry's was. August had a job prospect. And even if he'd earned the enmity of Fred and George Weasley… oh well.

Harry fell asleep, hoping he'd have a job offer in the morning.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

An owl pecked at the window, waking him up from a deep sleep. It took Harry several moments to recognize it as the same owl that had winged away from him yesterday at Diagon Alley. His stomach swooped as he grasped the parchment that had been folded into to the shape of a turnip instead of rolled. This was it, this was—

 _A rejection_.

He read the short note over and over again. "Master Peverell, thank you for your interest. Unfortunately, we do not hire people we do not know. Best of luck." It was signed "the Seeker."

Harry sat back on his bed. Disappointment was a heavy weight that slumped his shoulders.  _Damn_ , he thought.  _Damn and blast._

Less than an hour later, he was back in Dumbledore's office. "I should have known they wouldn't hire me. I'm not sure why I thought they would." It was a lie. Harry'd already figured out why he thought he'd be hired. Since when had anyone ever stopped him from throwing himself into danger the likes of which  _The Turnip_ dealt with? He hadn't truly considered the fact that they weren't going to give an unknown a chance – even with the impeccable resume of August Peverell. They didn't know him.

"And I was certain you would have to try more than once," Dumbledore said easily.

Harry stifled the irritated retort that nearly came out of his mouth.

This time, Dumbledore helped him craft a more personal letter. "Show them you care," Dumbledore advised. "Show them you have a personal stake in it."

He addressed the letter to Seeker, and wrote: " _I'm not convinced that I properly explained why I want to work for you. I've lost family members and friends to the Dark Arts, and I understand the importance of the work you do. The truth is that I've followed your work for years. I've been reading since before_ The Turnip  _began charging for subscriptions, and I have paid ten galleons per month for the pleasure of seeing an organization that takes its principles seriously. I realize that you don't know me, August Peverell, but I know that my interests align with yours. I would appreciate the chance to at least interview with you, so that you can get to know me._

"How is that?" Harry asked, slightly worried. Other than saying he ought to make the letter more personal this time, Dumbledore had offered little advice. "I don't sound like a beggar, or anything?"

"I believe it was an excellent effort," said Dumbledore. "However, please keep in mind that you may need to be even more persistent than this. Try to be sparing on details – August Peverell would not hold up under intense scrutiny – but do let them know it is personal for you."

Harry nodded.

They went to the owlery together and chose a particularly dumpy school owl to send off to  _The Turnip_.

"Remember, Harry," Dumbledore began.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry said. "But wasn't Voldemort pretty persistent with you about getting the Defense Against the Dark Arts job?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Be persistent," he said again, just as they parted ways.

He kept that in mind over the next few days, when the sky remained empty of owls winging toward him with a job offer from  _The Turnip_  held in their talons. The more Harry thought about it, the more invested he was in this idea of working for it. It seemed tailor made to his situation, and the more time that passed, the more indignant he became that  _The Turnip_  was ignoring him. Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione began to notice his poor mood.

Harry was scowling out the window, squeezing a ball shaped like a puffskein in one fist. Despite it being only September, it was chilly enough out that he'd lit a fire in the grate with a simple incantation. Ron and Hermione were sitting together in an armchair; every time Harry sighed, Ron looked at him with annoyance, as though he wanted Harry to leave the room.  _It's my damn house!_  Harry thought, after one of these occasions.

A small pop distracted him. His wand was halfway out of his pocket, and a hex was on his lips when he recognized the small figure and long red hair. "Oh, Ginny," he said, relieved. "What're you doing here?"

"Hey! Don't be rude to my sister," Ron said.

"What? I—"

"You. Were rude. To my sister," Ron said, emphasizing each word.

Harry felt a bewildered sort of defiance. It was just like in Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, when he was getting in trouble over Ginny without even doing anything wrong. "I wasn't rude—"

"You did imply that she wasn't precisely welcome." Hermione joined in. Harry glared at her.

"Of course, she's—"

"You've been in a piss poor mood all day," Ron pointed out. "For the last week, actually. Did you finally get your period, or something, Harry?"

Harry's cheeks heated. "For  _Merlin's_ sake, Ron," he hissed.

"For someone so worried about Ginny, you don't bother modulating your words at all," Hermione said, sounding highly annoyed. "How many times do I have to tell you  _it's rude_ to use menstruation as an insult?"

"You probably need to tell him once a month," Ginny said airily. "Twice if he's being particularly stupid."

The three of them turned to look at her. Under his astonishment, Harry was amused. Ron's face turned bright red, which meant it was true, and that made it even funnier. "Ginny, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you think you aren't welcome here." It was true, even. "Come here whenever you want to do some study – I mean, you know." For the second time that night, his face turned bright red.  _She's twenty, you idiot_.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. For one moment, he thought she hadn't noticed his slip. "If I come over to do some studying, I'll make sure I'm quiet. I know how you old people need your sleep."

Harry forced out a chuckle.

It turned out that Ginny wasn't staying. She was collecting Hermione, and the two of them were going out for a witch night. Ten minutes later, he and Ron were alone.

"Want a drink?" Harry asked.

"I thought you'd never ask," said Ron.

Dumbledore had had several good reasons for Harry not telling anyone – even his closest friends – that he was intent on working for  _The Turnip_. The problem was that every time Harry took a drink, he forgot one of those reasons. He was feeling quite pleasantly drunk, and this was what prompted him to tell Ron all of his problems.

Ron, a true friend, was halfway off the armchair he was laughing so hard. "You're Harry fucking Potter, for Merlin's sake!"

"I know," Harry said glumly.

"If they knew who this – this Aggie Peverell—"

" _August_ Peverell," said Harry.

"If they knew who you were, they'd give you the job straight away," said Ron. His voice was slurred with drink.

"And who knows if 'Harry Potter' can get a job anywhere," Harry said with a great deal of bitterness.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron. " _The Turnip_ is run by the good'uns. They wouldn't believe half the shite the  _Prophet_ prints, that's for fucking sure."

"They never mention me," Harry said. "I like that."

"You tol' me that a million times," Ron said.

They drank a little more.

"I think you should send them another letter," Ron said. "From wha' you said of the last letter, you coulda been more personal."

"I dunno," Harry said doubtfully.

"C'mere, I'll help you write it," said Ron.

Harry steadily warmed to the idea as they worked over a piece of parchment. The end result was a lot more personal, and more… effusive than the other. "Is it a good follow up?" Harry asked. "You have a job… you know how this works. I don't sound drunk, do I?"

_Dear Seeker,_

_I imagine you are quite busy conducting your investigations, and haven't had a chance to write back. I just wanted to reiterate that I am deeply devoted to the task of rooting out darkness. Please, I beg you, let me help you. I need this. I have loads and loads of qualifications._

_Sincerely_

Harry nearly signed his own name, and pulled his quill back from the parchment, aghast. "Ron! I almost signed it  _Harry_!"

"You think you'd be used to being someone else," Ron said, dispassionately. "Didn't you spend almost an entire year once as Barry, the Muggle boy? We had to keep magicking his hair to grow out."

They shared a laugh.

Harry rolled the parchment and tied it to his owl's leg. "We should disguise him."

"Why?"

"Dumbledore said use anonny-anonymous ways," Harry said. "That's definitely  _my_ owl."

Ron pointed his wand, and turned a couple of Arnold's tail feathers brown. "Is that better?"

Harry shook his head. Arnold ended up going from the snowy white Harry preferred in his owls to a mottled brown, black, and grey. He was glaring balefully at Harry by the time Harry was finally done.

"There," he said, satisfied.

Arnold was already out the window by the time Harry realized he hadn't signed his name. "Damn," he said. "I forgot to sign it."

"They'll know it's you," Ron said soothingly. He flicked his wand in a lazy gesture, and more firewhiskey appeared in front of Harry.

The rest of the night passed in a haze. At one point, Harry had a flash of paranoia. "But I shouldna tol' you," he slurred. "Dummledore always said. Shecrets, you know. You know."

"So do a mem'ry charm," Ron mumbled.

"Yer sure?" Harry said doubtfully. He didn't think it the best idea to muck about with Ron's brain while he was drunk.

"Yeah, jess do it," said Ron.

"All right," said Harry. And he raised his wand, and began the incantation.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next morning began with a very loud screech.

" _You get out here, Harry Potter!_ "

Harry groaned, and rolled over onto his stomach. His glasses, which he'd not bothered to take off before he stumbled into bed, dug into his cheeks. His head throbbed, and he pushed it further into his cool pillow. His room at Grimmauld Place was so dark, and so pleasant. He even had bed hangings that protected him from the sun that intruded at ten in the morning. Harry ignored both Hermione's continued screeching, and the pain in his cheeks. His eyes sagged closed again.

He was up and out of bed when she hit him with a stinging hex.

" _Damn it_ , Hermione!" he shouted.

"Don't you yell at me, you know what you did!" Her voice was magically loud, and echoed unpleasantly in his ears.

Harry wasn't sure what he was meant to have done.

He stumbled down the stairs. Last night's firewhiskey was no longer a pleasant burn, but a sourness in his stomach. His head hurt, and he  _did_ have a feeling he'd done something last night. Something unwise.

"You performed a memory charm!" Hermione screeched at him. "A memory charm!  _While you were drunk_!"

 _Oh_. Harry had to admit that that hadn't been his smartest idea. He remembered telling Ron about his frustrations with  _The Turnip_ , and Ron having a laugh. When Dumbledore's reservations had finally caught up to him, it had seemed eminently sensible to erase the fact Harry'd told Ron all about August Peverell's plans. "Is he okay?" Harry said cautiously.

Hermione stabbed her finger at Ron. Harry eyed him with trepidation. He sat beside his sister, and was tucking into a large breakfast of ham, eggs, and hashbrowns. His brow was clear, and he did not even have the pale, sickly look he usually got after drinking too much. In fact, Ron looked much better than Harry felt.

Harry raised both eyebrows. "He doesn't look ill to me," Harry said.

"Ron, what day is it?"

"September 24," said Ron.

"See?" Hermione said, voice rising again.

Harry's head gave a fresh throb. "No, I don't," he said fiercely.

"It's September 25," Ginny said brightly.

"He lost an entire day," said Hermione. She spoke in a tone usually reserved for very small, very stupid children. Harry actually preferred the screeching. There were few things that irritated him more than when Hermione talked down to him.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said, not really meaning it.

"You – you—"

"Whenever people ask me if I was jealous that Ron got to go off and have adventures, I usually just laugh," Ginny cut in. In fact, there was a smile on her face that Harry thought threatened laughter at this very moment. He sighed and slumped into a chair.

"You're not wrong to laugh," he told Ginny.

"Excuse me," Hermione said in an exaggeratedly calm voice. "I am not  _done_ —"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Ron said affably. "What is it, that time of the month?"

Hermione swelled like a bullfrog.

Ginny did laugh then. "See? Some months, he's particularly stupid."

"To be fair, this one wasn't his fault," Harry said. "If he forgot an entire day, he forgot Hermione got mad at him for that last night." The ham and eggs were beginning to smell tantalizing, and Harry reached for a plate. As Harry talked to Ginny, he noticed that Ron was soothing Hermione's temper with a combination of affection, smiles, and impertinent remarks.

"It's like they're taming each other," Ginny said, amused. "Hagrid would be proud." She finished her breakfast, and swallowed the last of her pumpkin juice. Harry felt a pang of disappointment – Ginny was an excellent buffer between him and Hermione's temper – when she stood up and summoned her cloak.

"You're leaving?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I've got to get to work," Ginny said. "Those kneazles are hard to manage in the morning, I tell you." Harry followed her gaze to Ron and Hermione, who were now kissing each other as though no one were in the room with them. "Tell them I said good bye," Ginny told him. "See you later, Harry."

She breezed out of the kitchen, and out of the house.

Harry sighed, feeling a little depressed again.  _It's not like you want to work with a dotty old woman who has a load of kneazles_ , Harry thought. He winced, remembering the letter he'd sent to  _The Turnip_ last night. Though he couldn't quite recall the exact wording he'd used, Harry knew that he really shouldn't have tried begging them for a job while he was getting drunk with his best mate.  _How am I going to explain this to Dumbledore?_ He thought, morose.

Once he'd finished his breakfast, provided a lie as to why he'd needed to perform a memory charm that Hermione believed, and apologized to Ron for playing fast and loose with his brain, Harry went back to bed.

It was dusk and raining again when Harry woke. There was a tapping at the window, and despite the niggling feeling that he'd lost August Peverell his chance to work for  _The Turnip_ , Harry felt a little leap of excitement.

Instead of another rejection from  _The Turnip,_ however, the thick parchment revealed that it was another full edition, folded into a slightly more ornate turnip-shape.

"Harry!" Ron shouted. " _The Turnip_! You read it yet?"

"Of course not!" Harry shouted back. "I just got it!"

They all met in the library, sitting in their customary places. If they were all together when the newspaper arrived, they generally read it together.

Harry carefully unfolded it, and smoothed it out. "Not a lot of news this week," Harry observed.

"No, look! This is new!" Hermione said excitedly. "It's a special announcement; they've never done one of those before!"

Harry, who'd already started the Seeker column, pulled back and looked for the announcement. He had a feeling he knew what it would be about, and he was right.

_TO ALL OUR READERS AND SUBSCRIBERS_

_PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT DUE TO THE SENSITIVE AND SOMETIMES HAZARDOUS NATURE OF THE NEWS WE REPORT HERE AT_ THE TURNIP _, WE DO NOT HIRE OUT. WE ARE SURE THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU ARE TRUSTWORTHY, BUT WE DO NOT BELIEVE IN TAKING CHANCES. IT WOULD TAKE A PERSONAL RECOMMENDATION FROM MERLIN, OR DUMBLEDORE HIMSELF TO CHANGE OUR MINDS IN THIS MATTER. WE APPRECIATE YOUR INTEREST, BUT WE HAVE TO HAVE SOME REGARD TO OUR OWN SAFETY._

_THANK YOU_

_SEEKER, MIMBULUS, AND MORGANA_

Harry stared at the words.

"Looks like someone has been pestering them for a job!" Hermione said, excited.

"That's hilarious," said Ron. "Poor sod."

 _At least the memory charm held,_  Harry thought. It was hard to suppress a smirk.  _The Turnip_ had publicly announced that they were not hiring… but they'd also allowed for a circumstance in which they  _would_ hire someone. Harry may not have Merlin to help him out, but Dumbledore? Oh yes.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked.

"Oh… nothing," Harry said. "Nothing at all."


	3. Chapter 3

"How will they know I haven't faked it?" Harry asked anxiously.

Dumbledore was adding his signature to the bit of parchment that recommended him for the job at  _The Turnip_. "They may very well suppose that you have written your own letter and simply signed my name to it," Dumbledore said composedly. "However, I will be sending it with Fawkes. A phoenix is much more difficult to replicate than a signature."

"Oh… yeah," said Harry. "Smart."

"That's been said of me a time or two," said Dumbledore.

He gave a trilling whistle. Fawkes, who had been snoozing on his perch, perked up, launched himself into the air, and glided over to Dumbledore's desk. The glorious red and gold feathers on his head were stroked, and Fawkes preened. "Take it directly to whom it is addressed," Dumbledore said.

"Thank you, Fawkes," Harry added.

The bird disappeared into a wreath of flames, leaving behind the scent of wood smoke. Harry breathed it in. He had always been fond of Fawkes, and that fondness had only increased when Fawkes had saved his and Ginny Weasley's lives down in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry's, from the basilisk, and Ginny's, from what Umbridge had done to her. Fawkes had saved Harry's life twice more since then.

"Deep thoughts?" Dumbledore asked. He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Just about Fawkes," Harry said. "You know, you never told me how you got him."

Dumbledore paused, and Harry saw – to his own astonishment – that Dumbledore was startled. His eyebrows raised. Harry'd seen Dumbledore nearly plummet from a cliff while searching for a Horcrux, and he'd not even been the slightest bit rattled. Several of the portraits around them began to laugh.

"Is this a sensitive topic?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I—"

But Fawkes returned just then in another burst of flame. He looked even more magnificent than he did before he left. He fairly strutted to Dumbledore, and dropped a letter into his lap. Then he preened for them, sweeping about the room, and mantling his wings once he landed on his perch.

"Erm, is Fawkes…?"

"My assumption is that those at  _The Turnip_  know how to treat a phoenix," Dumbledore murmured. His eyes glinted with amusement. "Fawkes had his ego stroked, and was possibly given a snack."

Fawkes squawked.

"I give you plenty of snacks," Dumbledore told him. "You know you get indigestion if you eat too many."

 _And here I wondered if Fawkes found a lady friend_ , Harry thought. He did not voice this out loud. He didn't want to see the faintly pitying look from Dumbledore regarding the state of Harry's love life. Or worse, receive yet another apology from Dumbledore over something that Harry just wanted to be able to forget.

"You have the job." Dumbledore's voice penetrated Harry's thoughts.

"I – what?"

Dumbledore read him the letter: " _Dear Professor Dumbledore. Thank you for taking the time to recommend a new staff member. In truth, we have been swamped lately, and have been hoping to add to our number. However, with the delicate nature of what we do, it has been difficult to figure out how to trust whomever we interview. We are excited to have August Peverell on the staff. I am sure both you and he will be understanding of the steps we take to ensure our privacy. Mr. Peverell will be required to sign a magically binding contract that he will not reveal who we are, or our methods of investigation. Should this be palatable for him, he can contact us by owl, and we will arrange to meet him and have him sign the contract. It has been a pleasure."_ Dumbledore looked up at him. "It's signed 'Mimbulus'."

"Ah," said Harry. Mimbulus took care of the news of more international and political significance, like the situation with the Russian Ministry and its efforts to destroy vampires. It was generally a good column, but not his favorite.

"You are not going to be able to tell anyone anything you know," Dumbledore said. "In fact, I signed one myself, long ago. Thus, I cannot tell you how it came to be that Fawkes is my companion."

"Well, now I'm not sure I want to do it," Harry said. Indignation welled within him. "That's sneaky, making me sign a contract."

"It's for their safety," Dumbledore said quietly. "In today's political climate, the Ministry would be working over-time trying to undermine everything  _The Turnip_ does. The only reason they cannot is because they have total anonymity. There is nothing for the Ministry to attack, only smoke. I am not surprised that they will do everything they can to ensure this continues, including making a new hire sign a contract not to reveal who they are."

"I… yeah," said Harry. "That makes sense."

"As we discussed when we came up with your own subterfuge, the easiest way to not get caught is to not tell anyone," Dumbledore said. He gave Harry a knowing look. Harry moved uncomfortably on his chair, wondering if Dumbledore somehow knew that Harry'd told Ron, and then performed a charm that erased an entire day in his best mate's memory.

Harry was still uncomfortable with the idea of not being able to tell anyone who was in charge of  _The Turnip_. It seemed precarious. He trusted their work, but what if he was forced to compromise his own friends in the Order of the Phoenix? There was still some secrecy required there.  _I'll just… promise I won't ever mention the Order. It's not like August Peverell knows very much about it at all,_ Harry convinced himself. For a brief second, he was tempted to ask Dumbledore to charm him somehow, to make it impossible for him to speak of the Order, or anything about Voldemort and his defeat. But that seemed slightly ludicrous…

"Having second thoughts?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"No," Harry said. "Not really, no. But the magical contract makes it a little more…"

"Real?" Dumbledore suggested.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, I guess so. But I'll still do it."

"All right, let's send your acceptance," Dumbledore said.

Harry wrote out his agreement to binding himself to a magical contract. Misgivings warred with his certainty that he'd be able to use his past experience to its full potential while working for  _The Turnip_.  _I want to do this,_ Harry told himself firmly.  _I want to do this._

Fawkes chirped, as though reading Harry's thoughts, then swooped down over them to grab the letter Harry now held in his hand. He disappeared again in a swirl of flames.

"They'll be feeding him more snacks, I expect," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Well, that's done," he added.

"It's done," Harry confirmed.

It did not take long for instructions to arrive: Harry was to meet them two days hence, in Hogsmeade. " _We'll see you at 5 o'clock sharp. Do not be late._ " They even gave him the exact place to stand and wait for them.

"Will you be ready?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," said Harry. "I'll be ready."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was raining in Hogsmeade.

Harry stood in a little alcove three doors down from the Three Broomsticks, in between Off the Pyre, and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. He had the white pebble in his pocket, and he couldn't resist playing with it. It had been another restful few minutes of being out in the world as August Peverell; not one person had taken more than a glance at him. It had been slightly disconcerting, especially when Ginny Weasley strode by him, without giving him more than a glance. But the rest of the time he'd spent walking to where the editors had bidden him to, it had been wondrous anonymity.

The letter telling him to meet in Hogsmeade had given him specific instructions. Harry was standing exactly where they'd told him to, at exactly the time they'd told him to. He squeezed the white pebble in his hand; it was warm from his slightly sweaty grip.  _There's no way they know about the disguise,_ Harry told himself.  _There's no way._ He jumped on the balls of his feet.

Tension coiled tighter and tighter as the minutes passed. Harry looked down at his old watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett. He realized, with no small amount of indignation, that he'd been waiting here for  _two hours_. The rain really started then, and it dripped on the back of his neck in a most unpleasant way.  _I'll wait all night if I have to_ , Harry thought grimly.

It was another ten minutes before the endless, relentless rain gave Harry an idea. It was now raining so hard that Harry felt like he was standing just behind a waterfall. That reminded him of his trip to Gringotts to acquire the Horcrux out of Bellatrix Lestrange's vault… there'd been a waterfall that washed away protections. It wasn't that Harry thought this downpour was magical (it was just Scotland being Scotland), but he did wonder if something magical had preceded it. Something that had prevented the editors of  _The Turnip_ from meeting him.

Harry created a shield from the weather, and put it over his head. " _Vestigium_ ," he said firmly. It would show him what sort of magic had been done here recently in Hogsmeade; Harry would see the remnants of all the spells done… he'd know if something dark had befallen whomever was meant to meet him. Grateful for the rain, he followed it up and down cobbled streets. Even though he knew it was an illusion, he thought he could hear its wings buzzing.

And, as though it had been waiting for him to do precisely this, a Golden Snitch appeared right in front of him. Harry reached out to catch it – and his fingers went right through it. It flew around his head several times, then fluttered down the street. Harry followed it, knowing it was a message, knowing he was meant to follow it.

There were other flashes of vestigial magic out the corner of his eyes, but Harry did not bother with it. Hogsmeade was a busy, wizarding village. What mattered was the Snitch he was following. It led him to a quiet, residential side of Hogsmeade that Harry had never been to. There was a community garden in the middle, with signs like "FOR FOOD" and "HAZARDOUS TO EAT" and "POTIONS INGREDIENTS". The Snitch was playful now, zooming this way and that, until it finally led Harry to a little pocket of disturbed earth. Harry knelt in the rain, digging at the mud with his hands, until a tendril of green magic rose from the ground like a plant.

It grew into a turnip, of course. It looked lifelike, but when Harry tried to touch it, it was just an illusion, like the Snitch. "Clever," he murmured. A wizened little face appeared on the broadest side of the turnip. It opened its eyes and looked at Harry.

"Do you agree to keep our secrets?" It asked Harry.

"Yes," said Harry.

A magical contract appeared in the air before him. Harry scanned it, relieved to see that it didn't appear to have any hidden loopholes. It was straight, and to the point. Harry was bound not to tell anyone the names of those he worked with; the same courtesy would be due to him. The consequences would be monetary in nature, as the Ministry required. Still, Harry didn't want to be overly trusting, so he muttered: " _Revelio._ "

A further line appeared. " _We keep our promises_."

Harry took this as a good sign. And, blowing out a breath, he opened a tiny cut on his fingertip and signed the contract.

Two figures immediately popped into existence in front of him. They were enshrouded in heavy cloaks that left none of their features visible. One was a few inches shorter than Harry. The other was quite a bit shorter, and also a witch. His heart was pounding, and he had his hand on his wand. He wished it weren't raining. He wished he could see who they were. As he thought that, the tips of their wands ignited, casting a glow that illuminated their surroundings.

The wizard, who seemed slightly familiar to Harry, said: "Easy, it's just us. I'm Mimbulus."

Harry knew that voice, but simply couldn't place it. It was light and pleasant, and… so familiar. If he'd push his cloak back, Harry was sure he'd know him.

So intent was he on the wizard's identity, and whether or not Harry knew him, he barely noticed when the witch moved to pull off her hood. His chest hurt from holding back his utter shock. All his thoughts scrambled the moment he saw that long mane of red hair.  _Weasley_ red hair. The light from their wands illuminated her face, though he hardly needed to see it to know her.

"And I'm Seeker," said Ginny. "Welcome to  _The Turnip,_ August Peverell."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was still in shock when Ginny lightly grabbed his arm and spun on the spot. He felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition. Perversely, it helped clear his head. The image of what he'd just been presented was still rocketing through his mind.  _Ginny Weasley. The Turnip. The Seeker._ When he opened his eyes, however, it was still  _Ginny Weasley_  beside him.

"This is where we work," she said brightly.

It wasn't raining here. The building in front of them was an old, rundown church that was buried in the middle of a large wood. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the building. The steeple leaned to the side, and the bell was cracked. Ivy climbed all the walls, and a large tree grew so close to the front of the building that it looked like another door. It shone in the moonlight, giving it an air of mystery that impressed Harry.

Harry fingered the pebble in his pocket, just about to pull it out and drop it to the floor of the forest, revealing who he actually was to Ginny. But the wizard had followed him pulled off his hood and then an oddly shaped cap, and suddenly was  _Neville Longbottom_.

A second shock coursed through him, almost like a magical jolt.

Neville Longbottom. Harry hadn't seen him in years. There'd been an incident in his third year… Neville's grandmother had taken him out of school and last Harry heard, Neville was studying magic at home, tutored by his family.

Harry shuffled his feet, trying to think quickly. Back when he'd first learned of the prophecy, Dumbledore had explained that it very well could have meant Neville. The vicious attack on Neville and his subsequent withdrawal from Hogwarts… it made more sense, given the context. But Harry, who had been the one to fulfill the prophecy after all, had been a little curious about the  _almost_ Boy-Who-Lived for several years now.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Neville said. "I'm Mimbulus… but my real name is Neville Longbottom. This is Seeker… or Ginny Weasley. Morgana's inside. Her name's Luna Lovegood."

Harry was hit with a third shock.  _Luna Lovegood?_

None of this made sense. How had he not known? How had anybody not known? Then again, why would they suspect?

"It's nice to meet you," he said, hoping he didn't look as bewildered as he felt. The urge to drop the pebble was growing. He knew them. They knew him.

Harry took a longer look at the surroundings, buying time before he had to pretend he didn't know these people. He wondered what Dumbledore would make of Neville being a founding member of  _The Turnip_. So it wasn't just him who had been urged toward combating the darkness. Neville, despite the prophecy not being about him, had done the same thing from the shadows.

And the Weasleys! The back of Harry's neck burned with the effort of not looking at her. Somehow, it was easier to assimilate Neville than it was Ginny. Neville made a dark sort of sense. Even Luna… but Ginny? Out of the three, he knew her best…

And he didn't know her at all, apparently.

"Are you ready to go in?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

While the church was very picturesque on the outside – it looked like it was part of a wizarding storybook – it was completely different on the inside. Harry stopped in the doorway, and looked around in wonder. The sanctuary had been turned into a large, airy space that rivaled Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for chaos. Instead of joke products, it was filled with newspapers and other paper products. They folded themselves in little shapes, and soared from one area to another. There was a large map of the British Isles hanging over where the cross traditionally would be. Several counties were lit up in some sort of code: Devon and Cornwall were red, and Shetland and Midlothian were blue. Again, Harry took his time, drinking it all in, preparing himself to open his mouth.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Luna appeared at his elbow. Harry noted that she was dressed as a sunflower… Harry remembered Fred and George talking about a "dotty old woman" who'd hired Ginny on to take care of her kneazles and had been dressed like a sunflower. Had they known it was Luna?

"Erm, yes, please," Harry said.

"I'll go fetch it, shall I?" said Luna.

"How long have you worked for  _The Turnip_?" he asked Ginny abruptly. He hoped his words didn't sound accusing, but a part of him felt stupid that he'd never figured it out, or somehow instinctively known. There was no logical reason why he should have, but he still felt a bit annoyed.

"Since its inception," Ginny said tranquilly. She'd removed her cloak, and was hurrying over to a long, low table covered in papers. Harry was glad that he hadn't dropped that pebble now. Would she be talking to him if she knew who  _he_ was? Harry wasn't so sure.

"It's not a title, Ginny's the only 'Seeker' we've ever had," Neville said. "We came up with the nicknames because we knew we'd be in danger if we did everything out in the open." He smiled at Harry. Neville still had an open, honest face. It was thinner now, and covered with a beard, but it was recognizably Neville. Harry tried not to peer too hard at him or show any sign of familiarity. He wasn't sure why he was even still keeping up the ruse other than he'd been told to by Dumbledore. "You'll have to come up with a nickname of your own, eventually."

"Eventually?" Harry asked. His confusion was clearing.

"Yes, well, we have to figure out what you'll be writing," Neville said. "We don't know your style, we don't know what you'll be best suited for. Me, I do the international scene." He pointed at a pile of papers being blown toward a filing cabinet. "I get all the international news, and put it in the Translation Cabinet, and it comes out in proper English. Then I parse out the real news from the propaganda, and write my articles. Luna takes creatures and – erm – anything particularly bizarre. Ginny does the investigative work."

"And it's just the three of you?" Harry asked. He looked around once more, trying to get all of this sorted out in his head. Maybe he needed his own Translation Cabinet, because it was almost as if all of this was in some foreign language, with Harry only being able to recognize and put small bits of it into place.

"No… not really," said Neville. "We have other associates. You'll meet them. But they don't do as much of the heavy lifting as you'd think."

"We have spells for that," said Ginny. She was standing right in front of the map. Her wand lightly brushed the red that covered Devon, and it clung to the tip.

"We also have people writing to us all the time," said Luna as she came back in. Four steaming mugs of tea floated in front of her.

"Tell me that's not plimpy tea," said Ginny.

"It's not plimpy tea," said Luna.

Ginny heaved what Harry could only suppose was a sigh of gratitude, and took a sip. She immediately made a face, and spit it back out. "That's plimpy tea!" she said, outraged.

Neville laughed.

Harry felt another little surge of confusion. He ignored it, and took his own cup of tea. Unnerved by Ginny's reaction, but not wanting to be rude to Luna, he took a sip. It was nearly as disgusting as Ginny made it out to be, and it took every bit of skill he had to keep the grimace off his face. He had never been more grateful to Hagrid, who had supplied Harry with plenty of food he'd had to pretend was edible.

"See, Ginny? August likes it," Luna said, beaming.

"Wait, do you like being called August? Luna tends to make up her own names for people, sometimes." Harry noticed that Neville had totally ignored his own tea. "

"It's fine." Harry had called himself all sorts of variations of the name over the past few days, trying to cement it in his mind. He was still trying to decide when would be best to reveal his secret.

Why don't we see what kind of questions August has for us?" Neville asked.

All their eyes turned to him.  _Be like Dumbledore_ , he ordered himself.  _Keep your secrets close_. He brushed his fingertips over the white pebble, and it burned through his cloak. Harry sighed, glanced at Ginny, asked: "So… what I'll be doing is more involved than the associates you mentioned?"

"It will, yeah," said Neville. "That's the hope, anyway."

"The hope?" Harry asked, startled.

"Yes," said Ginny.

"Mmm," said Luna.

"It's just that I have to know if you and I can work well together," Ginny said directly. "From what you've sent us, you're… how old?"

"Um, twenty-eight," Harry said. Dumbledore had decided that setting August anywhere near Harry's actual age was foolish, so August was four years older.

"That's several years older than I am," Ginny said. "I've had some… trouble with getting people to take me seriously, and I can't have a partner who looks down on me, and the work I do. I have enough of that in real life." She made a face and Harry thought about that. Did he take her seriously? Maybe not. Maybe he was one of the people that discounted her, sheltered her, and tried to protect her from the world around them. The world she was so obviously immersed in, he could see now.

"I… all right," Harry said. He supposed that was fair.

"We also need to find out what your style is," Neville said cheerfully.

"And your voice," Luna added.

"My voice?" Harry asked.

"How you write," Ginny clarified. "We think you're going to be a little more… blunt, than the rest of us. Or maybe a better word is authoritative. But really, all we've had to judge is the notes you've sent us."

"Oh, right," said Harry. He had another sip of plimpy tea, hiding his grimace.  _Dumbledore expects you to remain August,_ he reminded himself. It was going to be difficult; Harry hadn't expected to  _know_ these people, even though Neville and Luna were acquaintances at best. But Ginny… Harry had a nascent thought, that perhaps he hadn't known Ginny at all. He buried it before it could bear fruit. Clearing his throat, he said: "Yes, all of that sounds reasonable." He attempted a sheepish grin. "I just… didn't know what at all to expect?" This was not a lie.

"It's an odd organization," Luna said.

"But we make it work," Ginny added.

"And hopefully, you'll be part of it for a while, August," Neville finished. "We just have to figure out what role you'll play – other than helping Ginny. But you came recommended by Dumbledore, so… I'm sure it's going to be fantastic."

While Harry was trying to process everything that was happening, Neville happily offered to give him a tour of the church.  _Remember what Dumbledore wants you to do,_ he kept telling himself. Surprise was a constant in the back of his head, but he kept forcing it back. He did not want to appear gormless…

The church was much, much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Harry was impressed by the strength of the charms they'd wrought to create such a space. "Was the church always here, or did you move it?" he asked.

"It was always here," said Luna.

"What Luna  _means_ is that the foundation was here, Luna had an old painting of what it looked like, and we ended up building it," said Ginny.

"From the ground up?" Harry asked. He forced his mouth to stay closed, rather than hang loose at the idea that they'd done so much….

"It would've been a lot harder to charm everything if we didn't use our own materials," said Neville, as if it should be completely obvious. Harry had never really thought that much about building materials.

They passed through the large, airy space toward the back. Harry felt as though there were a fifth member of the group, walking along with them: Astonishment. It followed him around on the tour, as they pointed out each nook and cranny. "Here's where we keep our archives!" Neville told him, opening a door. It was another gigantic room, but after the busy atmosphere of the first room, it was silent as a tomb. The next room was just as large, but was only half full. Harry peered into it.

"This is  _my_ room," Ginny said with proprietary satisfaction. "These are active cases that I'm investigating."

"All of these are active?" Harry said, mouth falling open. There must be a dozen filing cabinets in there.

"Yeah," said Ginny. "There are a lot of duplicates; I sort the cases by location, severity, and cause – like, is it a dark creature possibly running amok, the repeated use of a dark spell, a suspicious person. So a lot of my notes are duplicated from one cabinet to another. It helps if I can see everything all together. And see that giant cabinet? Those are all my notes and everything I've gathered regarding the Dark Marks that are popping up everywhere."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense." The system did. The idea that Ginny managed all of this did not. The image he'd painted in his mind of her over the years was not just a little off, but completely being re-written in his brain. It was a disconcerting feeling.

"We think so too," Neville said dryly.

They showed him the archives, which was in a basement level. It was nearly twice the size of any other room Harry had seen thus far. It was less tidy and organized, but was filled with stacks of files, pictures, and even objects. He was looking at the detritus of three years of hard work, and it was even more than he expected.

"So… is there a lot of stuff that you don't report?" Harry asked.

"A fair amount," Ginny said. "Not everything needs an article. Sometimes we save some of the smaller cases for a type of 'round up' article. I'm sure you've seen those. We had a case regarding a grindylow trapped in someone's pond six months ago… I'm waiting until we've got another grindylow case—"

"Are you still on about the grindylow?" Neville said.

"The little bastard bit me," Ginny said, indignant.

"So you're going to immortalize him in a column?" Neville asked.

Harry watched them banter. Bewilderment made a home inside him and got cozy. How was it possible that  _Ginny Weasley_ was the Seeker? Harry knew she was a fully capable witch; he couldn't remember off-hand how many NEWTs she'd gotten, but he was fairly certain it was at least one more than he had.  _Think about it later, Harry,_ he ordered.

They wound up back in the main room, with all of the clutter and movement that added Dizziness as Harry's additional companion.

"What about…what about obvious stories?" Harry asked as he felt behind him for a chair and sank down onto it.

They all peered at him, brows furrowing. He wasn't sure where he was going with this either, other than looking for an obvious place to pull out his pebble and produce a little astonishment of his own.

"What do you mean obvious?" Luna asked.

"I mean…." Harry shook his head and tried to focus on what he wanted to say. "You don't talk about some things."

"We're comprehensive in our coverage," Ginny said. Her eyebrow rose slowly, as if she was challenging August's assessment of their paper.  _The Turnip_  was their baby, their creation, so it made a little bit of sense that they might be defensive of it.

Harry waved his hand impatiently. "I meant, you don't talk about some things that the Prophet prints."

"Filthy rag," Neville mumbled under his breath.

"Harry Potter," Harry burst out. "You don't talk about him."

They looked at each other, looks that Harry wasn't sure how to interpret.

"Why would we?"

He gaped at Ginny. Her tone was dismissive and almost…condescending. Is that what she really thought of him?

Neville even smiled. "Harry Potter isn't really newsworthy, is he? I mean, yeah, he defeated Voldemort, but he hasn't done much since then, has he? You don't see him out getting his hands dirty right now, do you?"

Any feeling other than anger dissipated and Harry felt that his face was probably turning red. He opened his mouth to say something, and his fingers itched to grab the pebble and dash it to the floor.

But something held him back. What would it prove to them if Harry Potter appeared in front of them? Would they think it a joke? Would they think it was some sort of meddling by the Weasleys, or even by Dumbledore himself?

Instead of following his base instinct, Harry took a breath and nodded his head. "Yeah," he said. "I just…I wondered if you'd spout off about that, you know. Say the same rubbish that the  _Prophet_  prints."

"I'm starting to wonder if you have even read our publication, Mr. Peverell," Ginny said. He couldn't read her tone, though. There was something there, just out of reach, and Harry couldn't seem to grasp it. His inner mind was still raging, trying to keep the idea of vindication at bay. Harry  _was_  doing something. He was "getting his hands dirty" right now.

"It's been a long day," Luna said, her voice ethereal and dreamy. Harry blinked at her as she stared back at him. "Perhaps Mr. Peverell should think over what he's seen today and make his decision about joining us here."

"Probably a good idea." Ginny turned on her heel and moved back toward her room. Harry watched her go, a growing need to prove himself taking over. Dumbledore had been right. Harry should keep to his August Peverell identity a little longer. It wasn't as if they took Harry Potter seriously, anyway.

It was another hour before Harry was on his way home, back to Grimmauld Place. Neville liked to talk, it seemed. It was late in the evening Thursday, and he didn't come to the church again until Monday.

"We don't keep normal hours," Neville had said, as though Harry needed to be reassured. "It's really more that Ginny's got one big case to finish up, and then she'll be ready to, you know, mentor you."

Harry felt a rush of indignation, but forced it to subside. "Oh… that sounds perfect," he said.

They walked him out the door, chattering to him, and bantering with each other. Dimly, Harry observed that they made August feel quite welcome, even if Harry felt like an unspoken pariah. He was half drawn in by their warmth, and half drawn in by curiosity. He'd no idea how he'd presented himself to them. Probably they thought he was mental. But Harry couldn't seem to make himself relax, and it was with relief that he said his final goodbyes, and Apparated home to Grimmauld Place. Before he even entered the house, he slipped the pebble out of his pocket and became Harry again.

Despite the late hour, Ron and Hermione were in the sitting room. Harry poked his head in, and saw Hermione reading a book on the sofa. Ron was snoozing with his head in her lap. Harry forced a smile, waved, and headed up to his room.

Arnold squawked at him as soon as he came in the door.

"Sorry, Arnold," Harry murmured, contrite.

He opened the window for his owl, letting in the damp air. Grimmauld Place existed in a quiet pocket of London, made even quieter by the fact that it had about a hundred different wards around it. Arnold flew away on silent wings that were only just turning back to snowy white after his and Ron's shoddy transfiguration work.

Harry threw himself on the bed, wishing he were still drunk. Or drunk again. The anger and annoyance he'd felt earlier at their dismissal of Harry Potter had faded as he stared at the ceiling, replaced with so many other thoughts. He rolled Dumbledore's fancy pebble between his fingers, thinking hard.  _The Turnip –_ the newspaper he so respected, and had been so intrigued by – was run by people he  _knew_. People who had never once given any sign or inkling that they had a secret as large as this.

And  _Ginny Weasley_! Her parents certainly didn't know what she was up to. Nor did her brothers. They thought she worked for a dotty woman in a sunflower dress.

After everything she'd been through, after the diary, Umbridge, and the locket… Harry simply could not believe that Ginny threw herself into danger like the Seeker always got up to. He had half a mind to…

A sudden jolt of horror had him sitting up.  _And Harry'd signed a magical, binding contract not to tell anyone_! What the hell was he supposed to do? He had mad visions of telling Ginny, Neville, and Luna who August Peverell really was… what if they obliviated him? What then? They'd just keep at it, and eventually, Ginny was going to find herself in very real danger.

It felt like a betrayal for Harry to sit by and let that happen. The Weasleys had done so much for him; they'd taken him in, let him stay with them, joined his fight, kept him alive… he couldn't let their youngest do dangerous things without having anyone to watch her back. How could he do that to them?

 _Of all the people in the world to have a secret like this, I never figured Ginny,_ Harry thought. Under all the confusion, and slight indignation, Harry felt a little whisper of guilt.

_Who's one to talk?_

Harry quashed that thought. His secrets were nothing like this. He'd done what he had to do. Despite what the  _Prophet_ insinuated at least twice a month, he hadn't done anything dark to defeat Voldemort. His secrets were personal, and weren't putting him in any danger. They were just private. They weren't  _dangerous_.

_Unlike Ginny's._


	5. Chapter 5

A light drizzle fell over the Burrow, though it had rained harder during the night. Harry's boots squelched in the mud as he walked through the backyard from the Apparition point. There were all sorts of tracks in the mud: rabbits and gnomes had been busy this morning, churning up the soft, rain-drenched ground. Molly's garden had not been disturbed; he suspected there were charms that protected the fall vegetables from being eaten.

 _You're stalling_ , he told himself, once he realized he'd been staring at the ground for quite some time. It was just that now that a couple days had passed since his meeting at with Ginny, Neville, and Luna, the secret had settled awkwardly on his shoulders. It was Sunday at the Burrow; Harry was supposed to be here. He was expected. But he wished he'd been able to come up with an excuse, any excuse, to keep from coming over today. How was he meant to look at Ginny with her family, and not say anything he shouldn't?

Harry scratched the back of his neck, rubbed at his scar, squared his shoulders, and moved toward the back door. It was already open, and voices billowed out like an auditory wind. Fred, George, Ron, Bill – they were all there, talking over each other, and laughing.

After using his wand to clear his boots of mud, he headed in.

And stopped suddenly when Remus Lupin's voice joined all the others.

"Remus!" he crowed. It was not often that Remus joined the crowd on a Sunday.

But there he was. He was greyer and shaggier than ever, and had the thin, pinched look of someone who'd been ill for quite a while. Harry felt a pang in his stomach. The Ministry had done nothing to obliterate the intense laws targeted at werewolves, despite the fact they'd been drafted by someone clearly corrupt and unhinged. Remus's job prospects had been worse than Harry's, and it obviously wore on him.

Harry shook his hand, and received a tired, crooked smile in response.

"It's good to see you, Harry," said Remus.

"What're we, chopped slugs?" Ron said.

"I saw you thirty minutes ago," Harry pointed out. "We live together."

"Could've used you here earlier, the lot of them are taking the mickey out of me," Ron said plaintively.

Everyone in the crowd laughed, even Remus. Harry looked around, surreptitiously looking for Ginny, and slightly relieved not to see her. He had a feeling once he saw her, the big secret would start choking him.

"Ah, but we have such a good reason to take the mickey," Bill said.

"Look at this, Harry," Fred invited.

A photograph was passed to him. An older woman sat in a rocking chair; she looked a little like Arthur, but had familiar, heavily-lidded eyes. A tiny bundle with tomato red hair was in her arms, and a naked, five-year-old boy jumped up and down next to them. A smile tugged at Harry's lips as he recognized Ron. The woman held up a finger to her lips, pointed down at the baby, and then winked.

"They could at least blur out my bits," Ron said indignantly.

His brothers laughed.

"But who's the woman?" Harry asked. A moment later, he realized it was a rather stupid question.

"It's Grandmum Weasley," said Bill. "This was only… oh, two or so years before she passed."

"Right," said Harry. "I figured that a second after I asked."

For another few minutes, he and Remus watched as Ron's older brothers continued to tease him. Harry contributed very little; there was hardly anything he could say, after all. It was somewhat of a relief when Molly called them all to the dining room for an early supper. It was happy chaos for a while, as everyone grabbed a plate, and helped himself to food. Ginny wandered in somewhat after the rest of them and selected the exact baked potato her brother Percy was reaching for.

"Hey, I was reaching for that!" Percy said.

"Too slow," Ginny said smugly.

Harry took a deep, nervous breath, then let it out.

She was at the opposite end of the table from him, thankfully. Harry forced himself to relax. This was not the first secret he'd kept from the Weasleys; he could do this. He'd kept the existence of Voldemort's Horcruxes from them. He'd never told them how Voldemort had been defeated, and what had been required from him. The reason why he'd left St. Mungo's, and been taken to a more secure location to finish healing from that final curse. They didn't know the particulars, thanks to Ron and Hermione. Ginny being the Seeker was not the only information he'd withheld from them.

It just felt like the biggest.

"All right, Harry?" Remus asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry said.

The older man raised his eyebrow.  _I don't believe you_.

The back of Harry's neck itched. He cast about wildly for something that might potentially be bothering him and hoped this struggle did not show on his face. "I was just… erm, thinking about my grandparents," he finally said. It was even somewhat true: Harry had given thought to his grandparents lately.

"Your grandparents?" Remus said. His face blanked with surprise.

"Yeah," said Harry. "You know, seeing Ron's grandmum in the picture… I've never really thought about my dad's parents. It's not  _bothering_ me, exactly. It's just… I was thinking about them," Harry finished lamely. "Petunia didn't talk about them much, but I at least knew about my mum's parents, even just a little."

There was a sympathetic light in Remus's eyes that made Harry feel slightly guilty.

"Erm—"

"They were very good people," said Remus. "I met them on several occasions. I wish Sirius were here… he lived with them. But they were warm, welcoming. Mr. Potter was very gregarious; Mrs. Potter was a little quieter."

Harry nodded. Despite the fact it had been a bit of misdirection, it was quite nice to hear about them. He wished Remus had mentioned his grandmother's name, though. If he'd ever learned her name, he didn't remember it.

"Were you going to eat that, Harry?"

Ginny was suddenly right next to him. She was pointing toward the ham dish that had been sitting in front of him for several minutes. "Oh," said Harry, wishing he'd had some warning before she spoke right in his ear. "No… go ahead and take it, Ginny." She did, and Harry frowned down at the food on his own plate, biting his tongue, and paranoid that something revelatory would come out.

Remus was still looking at him when she finally left. There was a slight frown on his face, and Harry forced a smile. "I'm not dwelling on it, or anything, I'm just curious," he said, returning to the conversation they were having before Ginny'd interrupted.

"I'd be curious, too," Remus said, after a thoughtful moment. "I'll tell you what, I'll see what I can do. To be honest, your grandparents were a lot older when they had your dad. I think Mr. Potter was nearly sixty when he was born, and Mrs. Potter wasn't that much younger. James was one of those shocking things that happen sometimes to older couples."

"Like Ginny," Bill said slyly, having eavesdropped on their conversation.

"What was like me?" Ginny called from down the table. Her fork, piled high with ham, was halfway to her mouth.

"You surprised all of us," Molly said warmly. "Your father and I thought we were done having babies, but then you came!"

"Oh, Merlin, not this again," Ginny said. "Forget I even asked."

Harry could not help but note that she did not sound particularly upset, or even mildly annoyed. He poked at his food, and very deliberately did not look down the table to where Ginny was being teased. A week ago, he would not have found it at all interesting. Now, he was straining his ears, trying to discover if Ginny ever gave herself away in any of her responses to being teased for being the surprise baby of the family.

He was following rather closely and couldn't help but note that she didn't – by word or gesture – reveal that there was a whole side to her that her family would be shocked existed.  _She really ought to have been sorted into Slytherin,_ Harry marveled. But remembering some of the more exciting Seeker columns, he amended his own thoughts.

If ever there was a hybrid of Gryffindor and Slytherin, it was Ginny.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was not expected at _The Turnip_ until one in the afternoon on Monday, so he was able to visit Hogwarts and help with the third years. The sleeves of his robes were pushed up his arms, his wand was out, and he was guiding them through an obstacle course guarded by creatures.

"I take it everything is g _o_ ing smoothly?" Dumbledore murmured. While he generally allowed Harry to work with the students on his own, he'd wandered down today to glean more details from him.

"They made me sign a magically binding contract," Harry said. A Gryffindor was a hair too close to the kobold, who swung his bat, and eyed her without blinking.

Harry was in between the kobold and the Gryffindor just as the kobold leapt forward to strike her. "No," he said firmly to the kobold. It glared at him under a heavy, sullen brow. "Miss Smith, you need to focus. The kobold could have hurt you."

"Excellent reflexes as ever," Dumbledore said, once Harry returned to his position.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. It had served him well, his reflexes. It was why he came in once every two weeks to help out for a morning or afternoon. Voldemort was gone, but many of his Death Eaters had side-stepped being sent to Azkaban. Harry wished yet again that Dumbledore could be convinced to take the job of Minister for Magic. He would do a much better job. Harry wouldn't be so – so obligated to teach what he knew to the students at Hogwarts… he could rest easier.

Three seconds later, that same Gryffindor nearly let all the pixies out of the cage Harry'd placed them in. " _Miss Smith_ ," he said sharply. " _Ease_ into the cage, don't let them all out."

She tossed him a baleful look.

"Trust me, you don't want to spend the next three hours tracking them all down," Harry told her.

The rest of Harry's time with them passed without incident. Miss Smith's behavior turned around, though she kept glaring at him out the corner of her eye. Harry shrugged it off. In coming back to teach here every couple weeks, Harry had discovered that teenagers were nearly as dumbfounding and irritating as kobolds. Last time he'd been here, a little beast of a Ravenclaw had taken great pleasure in informing him that his father considered Harry a menace to wizarding society.

But he had  _The Turnip_ to look forward to. However awkward it might be pretending he didn't know Ginny, Neville, and Luna, at least he wouldn't have to deal with students. This thought lifted his flagging spirits.

"You look… happy, all of a sudden," Dumbledore observed.

"Happy to have something to do," Harry said. With a wave of his wand, the pixie cage was transfigured into a traveling suitcase.

"Your owl post offered scant detail," said Dumbledore.

Harry looked over at him and smiled. He decided enough was enough, and he wouldn't force Dumbledore to continue fishing. "It's… it wasn't exactly what I expected. It was more of a – a home than a newspaper office, I guess. Not that I know what a newspaper office really looks like."

"A home, you say?" Dumbledore asked. "Is it in a house?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Not a house. Not an office, either. It's just… warm." The more Harry thought about the organization Ginny, Neville, and Luna had built, the more impressed he was. He'd been distracted and confused that first night, and he was looking forward to being less so in just an hour or so. From what he knew of it – and Harry was fairly certain that he'd just scratched the surface – it was very solidly managed. He was looking forward to discovering how they'd done it.

"You'll let me know if you run into trouble?"

"Of course," Harry said easily. It would be wise to have Dumbledore as back up, just in case. Some of the Seeker articles had described truly harrowing cases; what if something happened, and Harry couldn't get Ginny out of trouble in time? He'd never be able to look any of the Weasleys in the eye again, that was for sure.

"I know it has been several years since we needed it, but I would like you to keep the Protean coin on you at all times," said Dumbledore.

It had been Harry's way to communicate with Dumbledore while he, Ron, and Hermione had been on the run, helping track down Horcruxes. They'd sent messages back and forth; it'd been a more reliable way to communicate, what with the Ministry monitoring owls and the floo network.

"All right," said Harry.

"And – be careful."

Harry's shoulders were tense by the time he left Hogwarts. He was both eager and nervous to return to  _The Turnip_ , and with every minute that passed, both feelings grew. At five minutes to one, he was pacing the carpet in the dim entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. He was the only one there – both Hermione and Ron were at work, leaving the house empty, so Harry had already taken up the white pebble. Every time he passed the mirror, he saw August.

As soon as the clock in the hall chimed the hour, Harry spun on the spot, and Apparated to the church tucked away in the wood.

"Oh, good, you're here," said Ginny. She was dressed in a heavy traveling cloak and tossed a cap at Harry. He caught it, slightly confused. He recognized it… it was a Blind Bowler from the joke shop. He opened his mouth to say something about it, but then closed it.  _Better not be too familiar with Weasleys Wizard Wheezes,_ he cautioned himself.

"What is that?"

"It's an invisibility cap," she said breezily. "No, I'm only joking. It's something that keeps us in disguise. See?" She dropped her own cap over her bright red hair, and suddenly… she became totally nondescript. Looking at her, Harry couldn't tell what color her hair was, how tall she was, nothing. It was an impressive bit of magic the twins had wrought; Harry'd been there to watch them develop it. They'd entertained him with their stories of the havoc they'd raised while doing so; it had added humor to Harry's long months of convalescence after the war.

It did surprise him that when he put his own cap on his head, Ginny was suddenly Ginny again.  _They must've charmed the caps_ , he thought.  _Brilliant._

"We charmed them so we could always see and know each other," Ginny said briskly. "But everyone else will think you are entirely unmemorable. They couldn't tell the color of your eyes even if they're looking right in them."

"That's very clever," said Harry.

"We've had a good idea or two," said Ginny.

"So where are we going?" Harry asked. He felt a little surge of anticipation. There was no denying that, as the Seeker, Ginny got up to all sorts of things. He wondered if it would be a rampaging manticore, or a poltergeist, or even going after whoever was carving Dark Marks into trees, and lampposts, and all sorts of places.

She gave him a crooked smile. "We're going to help some children find their cat."

"I – what?"

There was a glimmer of mirth in her eyes, as though she could read his thoughts. "I thought we'd start you off easy," she told him.

"But—"

"We'll talk in a moment," said Ginny. She gripped his arm, and once again, Harry found himself being Side-Along Apparated with her. The forest disappeared, and a tired-looking neighborhood appeared. Harry looked around with interest. The sky was slate grey and threatening to rain, and the buildings were much the same color, and nearly as depressing. It was the type of industrial area he'd seen growing up; once, it had thrived and brought a lot of jobs to the area. Now it appeared abandoned.

"What is this place?" Harry asked.

"It's the Ministry's solution to the ugliness of when Voldemort was in power," Ginny said in such a low voice that Harry strained to hear it.

"What's that?" he asked, though he had some idea.

"It's meant to be a temporary residence for those who were displaced from their homes, had their wands snapped, and everything else," said Ginny. "But in reality, it's a lot more corrupt. 'Oh, it takes time to negate the laws', the Ministry says. Meanwhile, the whole area has a jinx over it, so all the magic performed there is heavily tracked."

"But that's still – they're still being treated like criminals!" Harry said, indignant.

Ginny went on. "They have a curfew, they have to live where they are told, some of them haven't been permitted to purchase wands… the Ministry says they are being eased back into Magical society, but the truth is that they are, indeed, still being treated like criminals." She blew out a breath in frustration. They continued up the dank street. It was all oddly quiet, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck prickled.

"That's wrong," Harry said firmly. "The Ministry ought to be buying wands for them, and – and giving them back their homes!"

Ginny stopped. "I like your attitude," she said earnestly. "Part of the reason why I do what I do is because I'd like to see change… real change. But please try to hold that sort of comment in. I've found it just makes them more miserable."

Harry paused, thinking quickly, then nodded. "I can see that." They passed an empty lot filled with litter and wire. "So, we're here to find a cat?"

"Yeah. I keep pretty close tabs on this area, and I'm here whenever anything is a little odd," said Ginny. She lifted her hand and pointed toward a squat factory that hunched over the buildings around it, like an immense and ugly toad. Harry squinted at it. So they had a community of Muggleborns and downtrodden living in a rundown old Muggle factory, did they?

Harry had to bite his tongue again and again. There were some fifty witches and wizards living in the factory… at least the Ministry had taken some steps to make it comfortable. The huge space had been subdivided into smaller apartments. He followed in Ginny's wake, keeping his mouth shut, and his eyes open. Of course, he'd heard about these communities… as far as he knew, there were three or four of them scattered around Britain. But he hadn't really put it together that it wasn't just a temporary stop in between being on the run, or in hiding, or begging in Diagon Alley. The Ministry was still hurting these people.

Damn it.

A couple of small children looked down from the rafters, where they were playing at some sort of game. Other than that, the common areas of the place looked fairly deserted. He could hear the whomp-whomp-whomp of a wizard rock band coming from behind a closed door, and opera music coming from another. Their footsteps made a flat, echoing sound on the concrete floor of the factory, even over the music. Once, Harry saw someone open the door, give them a furtive look, and close it again.

Tension set in his shoulders.

"Are you from  _The Turnip?"_

A man, who looked vaguely familiar to Harry, whispered these words. He was short and had the tight look of someone who did not get nearly enough to eat. Did the Ministry provide them with enough food? Harry's view of the Ministry, never very high to begin with, plummeted even further.

Then the man was looking behind Harry, and up. " _Maisie. Alfred. You get down here_ ," he said in the loudest whisper Harry'd ever heard. Then, he beckoned them inside. Harry followed right at Ginny's heels, wondering if he was missing something.

"Reginald Cattermole," the man said, holding out his hand for them to shake.

"I'm Seeker," said Ginny.

"And I'm – uh – erm…"

"He's new," Ginny said, amused.

"Ah," Reginald said. There might have been a spark of amusement in his eyes, but it was buried under anxiety. Something in him relaxed when the two children Harry'd seen in the rafters dodged him, gave their father guilty looks, and edged away.

"About the cat…"

"It's the same thing as last time," Reginald said, voice tense.

Ginny huffed out a sigh. Harry felt there was a wealth of context he was missing, and was content to just watch. For now.

"We'll take care of it," said Ginny.

"Thank you, Seeker," said Reginald. "And you, sir."

Harry, not having anything else to do, nodded, then followed Ginny out the door and down the hall. He gripped a yellow steel railing, using it to help him over a rusted grate in the floor.

Ginny knocked on a steel door.

"Who is?"

"I'm from  _The Turnip_ ," Ginny said. "We got a letter saying a cat is missing? Would you know anything about that?"

The door grated open. Tired, sunken eyes appeared. "Oh, yes," the old woman said. "Cat. He my cat. Please. Come in."

The flat tone in her voice made Harry pause. Ginny did not, but strode over the threshold without hesitation. After a moment, Harry followed her.

The living space was cramped and cluttered. There was a strong scent of cat urine. It permeated the air like a living thing. It was hard to believe the cat was missing… that there were not nineteen cats in the room with them, all of them pissing at once. It grew overpowering. What was worse, was underneath it all was the smell of something… corrupt. Putrid, even.

"Can I… get you anything for your feeding?"

Harry's nerves twinged.

"No, thank you," Ginny said cheerfully. "We just want to ask about a cat. Some children who live down the hall have a beloved pet. He's gone missing, and I hoped you could help."

"Oh… yes," the woman said. "My poor, poor… Muffins?"

Ginny reached into her small bag, and pulled out a thin bit of parchment. " _The cat is missing,_ " she read. "When did you last see the cat?" she asked. "We want to help you."

"Is it just the  _one_  cat?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself.

"Just… one cat," said the witch. For some reason this made her lips tremble, and her voice quaver.

Harry's heart sped up a little. Had this… woman… eaten a cat? Eaten a whole pack of cats, right after they all peed themselves in fright?

"It does smell like there are an awful lot of cats in here." Ginny said this in a pleasant tone than reminded him acutely of the twins, just before they'd practically thrown August out of their shop.

A cat mewled, startling Harry.

"My cat."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm pretty sure that's not your cat."

There was a sudden, feral gleam in the witch's eyes. The skin on her face sagged, her eyes grew impossibly wide, and her teeth elongated. A part of him was fascinated, watching the transformation. Her clothing sunk into her body, becoming more folds of skin, becoming part of her. Soon, the hag was staring at them with baleful, black eyes, and grey mottled skin. Saliva gathered at the corner of her mouth.

"With Ministry?" The hag spat the words.

"No," said Ginny. For the first time, Harry saw a crack in her determined look. A hint of exasperation showed through. "Listen, Affalmeldalae, I'm with  _The Turnip_. We've spoken before. We're trying to keep you safe, here. That means you have to follow rules."

"I. Follow. Rules."

"You need to be more careful," Ginny told her.

Harry had a growing sense that he did not know anything at all about what was going on. His hand was on his wand, gripping it through the cloth of his robes. But Ginny was betraying no such anxiety. Was, in fact, perfectly poised.

"My sisters. We. They had cats," said the hag. Her hands spread in a helpless, human gesture.

"I know," Ginny said. "I am so, so sorry."

Then, as Harry watched, she reached out toward the hag. Their hands met in the center. The hag's hands were mottled and greasy. Ginny's hands were pale and delicate looking. There were fresh stains on the hag's face. She was crying, Harry realized, with discomfort. The hag was  _grieving_.

Their hands still clasped, Ginny said: "I am  _so_ sorry, Affalmeldalae. For your losses, for everything."

"Muffins like me," she said.

"And the children are willing to let you visit him, they always have been," Ginny said.

The hag deflated, seemed to melt into a chair. The scent of cat urine grew strong enough that Harry's eyes watered. He forced himself not to gag, not wanting Ginny – or the hag – to think him unforgivably rude. To distract himself, he looked around the room. He noticed small details he hadn't before: there was a bouquet of dead swamp flowers on the chipped table, looking lovingly tended. On the wall was a portrait of three hags circling a cauldron, cackling.

He didn't know what he'd thought previously. Maybe that the hag had been impersonating someone, or had moved in, all unwanted by the other residents. Now he had a sense that this was her home. And other than stealing a cat, she was welcome to live here.

"Muffins, come here," Ginny said firmly.

A small, rusty-colored cat mewled from under a couch. It sounded very much like the cat was saying "No, thank you" to Ginny.

"He does like her," Ginny said to Harry.

He nodded.

"I'll get him," he offered.

While he got down on his hands and knees, and tried to coax Muffins out, he heard Ginny say: "Now, I've got a posy for you. If the Ministry comes for another inspection, they won't think anything… amiss." There was a fumbling sound. With a suddenness that stunned Harry, the room was swept of its urine smell. Now a new scent filled the air: it reminded Harry of a cave, somehow, moist and earthy.

"Good smell," the hag said approvingly.

"I made it just for you," said Ginny.

Harry finally got Muffins, who was not pleased to find himself in a stranger's arms. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay."

Ginny exchanged a few more words with the hag, took Muffins from Harry, and led the way back down to the Cattermole's makeshift apartment.

"Muffins!" a little girl crowed.

Harry thought the cat looked a little dejected to be returned to his family, and privately wondered if the hag stole the cat, or if the cat regularly escaped the clutches of three small children.

"Thanks again," said Reginald, shaking their hands once more, and looking pale with relief. "I'd go myself, but I – I never know what to—"

"I understand," said Ginny. "Give Mary my best, please."

They didn't speak the long way back to the Apparition point. This was not at all the type of work he'd expected to be doing. Not that he'd hated it. In fact, his curiosity over the  _context_ of what they'd just done was growing. What was it that Ginny was protecting the hag from? Was it just the Ministry? He tried to remember if he knew of any laws that had been passed recently regarding hags, but he was beginning to realize that his understanding of what was going on in the wizarding community had holes in it. He'd mostly paid attention to the big things – or the things that had affected him. It made him uncomfortable to realize there was so much he didn't know.

They Apparated back to the church at nearly the same instant. Harry clattered up the stairs, and pulled the door open for Ginny. The room was as busy as ever, with parchment flying to and fro. There was a strange owl hooting on a perch, fluttering his wings, and demanding attention.

"Another case?" Harry finally broke the silence.

"Not sure," said Ginny. She pulled the roll of parchment from the owl's talons, and unrolled it. "No, it's not. Just a donation. Come on back, we can talk in my office."

Harry nodded. He'd only caught a small glimpse of Ginny's office during the tour. It was bright and airy, and looked very busy. Ginny sat behind the desk made of a white-grey wood, and Harry took a seat in a comfortable chair.

"So, what did you think?" Ginny asked him directly.

"It… wasn't what I expected," said Harry. "Are you – are we – going to write an article on this?" Somehow he didn't think so, didn't think it appropriate to publish what had happened.

"No," said Ginny. " _The Turnip_ doesn't report on the Ministry-controlled communes such as the one we just visited. Our interest is avid, and we do a lot of work there, but we keep it quiet. For their sake." She blew out a breath of frustration. "The truth is that the articles we write are only about half the work we actually do."

"You were protecting the hag," Harry suggested.

"Yes," said Ginny. "Under Voldemort's leadership, nearly half the hags in the British Isles were either killed, or shipped off, or they went into hiding. Affalmeldalae is the last of her clan – they live in small, tight clans with one another. She's… adjusting to her loss." Her voice tightened. "It was terrible, what happened to them. I… don't even like to think of it. I wasn't there, but from what I've heard…"

"Does the Ministry know she's living there?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. They've got no clue. And it's so risky. These people are already treated like garbage. I honestly don't know what the Ministry inspectors would do if they found out they were harboring a hag."

"That's… risky," Harry whistled.

"They accepted the risks," Ginny said. "They want to protect her. They know what it's like to have the whole of society against them. Think of it, these people are barely scraping by, are still faced with Ministry corruption that  _by Merlin_ should have been gone when Voldemort was defeated. Two years later, and the whole  _Wizarding community_ is still a mess." She bit her lip. "The truth is that I want to march in there and promise them we're going to take down the Ministry, and build a better society. I wanted to promise Affalmeldalae that we'd make it so she could have a whole pack of cats."

"That posy you gave her…?"

"Oh, it's just something that masks the smell. When hags are stressed or anxious they can smell like… you know. You smelled it," Ginny said. "So I go in there once or twice a month with a fresh posy that hides it."

This made sense to Harry. Freshening charms would be easier, but the Ministry was monitoring the commune. If they wanted to protect the hag, they couldn't use charms that would surely be a red flag to whomever was monitoring the use of magic in the place. Harry felt a pang. The whole situation was just wrong.

"I wish… I wish she could have her own pack of cats," Harry said, echoing Ginny's earlier words.

"I know," said Ginny. "But giving them hope seems cruel, and like a broken promise. And also condescending, I think."

Harry did not think he'd ever had such a long conversation with Ginny. He mulled it over in his mind, wondering how he'd never known she was so passionate about this.

"A lot of the work we do is going to be like today," said Ginny. "I wondered if you were expecting a little more excitement; from the history of yourself that you gave us, it seems like you're more used to excitement? We aren't Aurors. I mean, I can pretty much guarantee there will be times we're in danger, and it does get exciting. But there are a lot of ways to fight, and  _The Turnip_ isn't always overt about it. Are you still interested? Do you still want to stick with us?"

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Yes," he said. "It's not exactly what I expected, but… I liked it. If anything, I'm even happier to be here."

Ginny smiled at him. "Oh. Oh, good."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry didn't know quite what to say after that. He'd just solidified his decision to remain with  _The Turnip –_ not that there had ever really been a question, at least not in his mind. So now what? Were they done for the day?

"So, now what?" Harry asked.

"Now I show you how I report what happened today at the commune," said Ginny.

"But you said—"

"We don't write up an article, no," she said. There was a hard note in her tone. "But someday, if the day comes, I want to have a complete accounting for what the Ministry has done. To the hags, to the wandless, to the vampires, the werewolves… I want a complete accounting."

Harry nodded.

It took only a few minutes for her to write up a report. "Now, follow me," she said, after rolling the parchment up and sealing it with dusky-red wax.

They went to the room that, during the tour, she'd proclaimed as hers. It was busier than it had been. Golden Snitches fluttered about the room, circling Ginny, cavorting with her, and then circling him. Harry wondered if his perception was off, or if the snitches really were eyeing him, as though they didn't know if he were trustworthy or not.

"Oh," said Ginny, surprised. "Are you up for another case?"

"I – yes," said Harry. He glanced at her. She was looking at the largest, fattest snitch with pursed lips. Did she have a way to  _commune_ with them? He looked again at the snitches, perplexed.

She grabbed at the snitch, catching it easily, tucked the rolled bit of parchment in her pocket, and drew her wand. "-" she said firmly. The snitch opened, and a wisp of smoke appeared. It coalesced into a shadowy form. Ginny made an irritated sound, and it further sharpened, into the shape of a cat.

"Oh, damn," she muttered. Then she looked at Harry, smirking a little. "You're going to think  _The Turnip_ is just about herding cats."

"Not the same cat?" Harry said. "We have to go back?" Had Muffins run away again, into the saggy, willing arms of the hag?

"No, different cat," said Ginny. "This one's a real bitch."

"Isn't that more of a dog thing?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Ha-ha," she said dryly. "You'll learn."

Ginny flew into motion then, making Harry feel (and surely look) gormless. She tossed her report on the commune into a cabinet, led him out of the room, and into a supply closet. To his shock, she grabbed two brand-new Firebolts. She tossed one to him; Harry caught it without thinking. Firebolts were the top of the line; their speed had no match, and their responsiveness had no equal. They weren't brooms for beginners.

The left side of her mouth quirked at him, as though she guessed his thoughts. "Are you prepared to ride a Firebolt?" she asked, solicitous. "They're very fast."

Her eyes were asking him if he was scared. Harry felt a surge of indignation. He wasn't concerned for  _his own_ safety. "I've ridden one before," he said. It came out a little gruff, and he covered it with a cough.

"Oh, good," she said. "Neither your notes nor Dumbledore mentioned your flying abilities. I didn't want to assume you knew what you were doing, and risk losing my writing partner before I even had a chance to break him in."

"I think I'll be okay," said Harry.

Brooms over their shoulders and traveling cloaks back on, Harry and Ginny went back to the front of the church, out the doors, and to the Apparition point. Still feeling stung that he'd had to defend his flying abilities to  _Ginny Weasley_ , Harry was slightly disgruntled when she offered him her arm. He did not let this show on his face; he was not so stupid that he didn't remember her words the night of the tour. She would not put up with him condescending to her.

Harry thought it best he just keep his mouth shut. It was easy to do, both metaphorically and literally. If he opened his mouth, rain would just get in. If he condescended to her, he'd lose his job.

"We're going to Cornwall," Ginny explained. "I don't know how familiar with Muggle stories you are, but this one is a  _legend_. The Beast of Bodmin Moor, if you've heard of it?"

Harry, who was somewhat familiar with Muggle customs, having grown up the way he did, was quite honest when he shook his head. A legendary beast would never be mentioned by the Dursleys, unless they were talking about target practice. "I haven't heard of it. What is it?"

"Well, the Muggles think it's a big cat," said Ginny. "I think they call them poomies, or something. Maybe  _puma_. It's actually poltergeist, but it most commonly takes the form of a gigantic kneazle. Like, twice the size of an actual kneazle."

"A  _what_?"

"It's… you know how poltergeists are amortal… they aren't, like, ghosts or anything. But they  _do_ have some resemblance to real beings, beasts, and creatures. This one is a kneazle, and came into being in… the best guest is 706."

Harry followed her explanation, relieved that he'd paid attention in Care of Magical Creatures. He wouldn't be able to speak so authoritatively on the subject, but he could at least follow her. Part of him rankled at doing so, but he shoved that down.

A pair of goggles came flying at him; he caught them. For half a breath, he stared at them, dumbfounded.  _Oh, of course_ , he thought.  _August would wear these… he has perfect eyesight_. At least as far as Ginny knew. Probably Ginny assumed that any flying August did in inclement weather had been done with the aid of Quidditch goggles. Harry, who could not see any better than the average mole, had always just charmed his glasses to have the same effect.

He tugged the goggles over his head.

"Are we flying, then?" he asked. It seemed unlikely. Though he would not be able to pinpoint the location of the turnip church on a map, he had an inkling they were in the north of England. Cornwall was far to the south. Even on a Firebolt, it would take time.

Her next words confirmed his analysis. "No, it's too far away. We'll Apparate there, and then take flight. We want to be in the air for when we track the poltergeist, that's why we're bringing the Firebolts." She paused, and pursed her lips. "You have to know that I've done this a few times," she told him. "I know what I'm doing."

"Okay," said Harry. "I'll just follow your lead."

"You will?"

"I will," said Harry.

"Okay, then," she said. Without warning, she caught his arm in her hand, spun on the spot, and Apparated them to a windy, rainswept stretch of land. It was desolate, craggy, and patched with grass. Little clutches of cattle huddled on these tiny bits of green.

"The poltergeist likes to mess with the cattle," said Ginny.

Harry was so grateful for the goggles. Rain splattered against them, but the water was immediately swept away by a charm. It was even more efficient than the charms Hermione'd taught him.

"Okay, so what should we…"

"Let's fly around first, see if we can find it," said Ginny. "Are you ready?"

Without waiting for an answer, she kicked off up and into the air. Any reservations Harry had about Ginny's flying ability died a very quick death upon seeing her take to the sky. This was a woman who spent a lot of time honing what had to be immense natural talent. She was as at home on the fast, sensitive broom as Harry was.  _She's steering with her legs_! Harry noted, amazed.  _Her wand's out, she's flying straight into a stormcloud, and she's steering that Firebolt with her_ legs! Harry gaped after her, dumbfounded.

The wind rose, making an eerie, howling sound.

A second later, Harry realized that wasn't the wind. On a stone outcropping far, far ahead of him, Harry saw the translucent, milk-colored outline of a great cat. Its mouth was open in a yowl. As soon as it made eye contact with Harry, it flicked its tail up in an unmistakable gesture, bounded away, and disappeared.

Ginny whistled for his attention.

"GET IN THE AIR!" she shouted over the wind.

Harry straddled the Firebolt, kicked off, and soared up into the sky. Cold wind blasted him with pellets of rain. Harry hunched over his broom and flew after Ginny. It didn't take long to realize she was playing a game of cat-and-mouse with the poltergeist. Harry could see it flickering in and out of existence below him. Every once in a while, it paused to stalk some of the unsuspecting cattle. The poltergeist would dive into a herd like it was bowling, and bound after first one terrified cow, then another.

The storm worsened.

 _Why didn't I think to cast a couple of rain-repelling charms on my cloak?_ Harry asked himself. It was all well and good for a teenager to fly in all sorts of weather and not care about the cold and the rain. It was quite another for a twenty-four year old to do so. And August was meant to be twenty-eight!

He didn't let his irritation with himself slow him. Instead, he followed Ginny.

She looked at him. He saw her lips move, but the wind snatched her words away before he could hear them.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" he shouted.

She tried again. Same result.

"STILL CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

Then, still flying at top speed, she took both hands off the handle –  _again –_ flipped around so she was facing him  _backward on the broom,_ and used her wand to make her voice magically, powerfully loud. "We've got to catch it fast! The sun's going down! It'll disappear, and we'll have to come here again tomorrow!"

Harry's ears rang. It was all he could to do to nod.

He bent his head against the wind, and realized he was dripping nearly enough water to qualify as a stormcloud. Her words from earlier, before they'd even left the turnip church, gained prominence.  _They only come out at certain times of day… or certain days of the week… some of them have other, different limitations_.  _It depends on the individual poltergeist. This Beast of Cornwall is only visible from noon until sundown…_ It was difficult to tell, what with all the wind and rain, but they had to be approaching sundown any minute.

Harry surged toward a cluster of rocks. The poltergeist was sitting on top of them, licking its paws. Harry drew close enough that he could see its whiskers and the smug look on its overly large face.

It flipped an improbably backflip. Harry was forcibly reminded of Peeves, and this feeling was only doubled when it made a farting noise, disappeared, and reappeared thirty meters away.  _The little bitch just stuck its tongue out at me!_ Harry thought indignantly.

"IT'S SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!" Ginny echoed his thoughts.

For the next fifteen minutes, they tried desperately to pin it. Harry swooped over it and chased it toward Ginny. Ginny did the same and chased it toward him. Together, they kept at it. Harry streaked through the pouring rain, no longer minding the cold. He was only focused on the task.

"HA!" Harry crowed in triumph. He was close enough to the poltergeist that he could see the murky grey in the depths of its eyes. Without thinking about it, without planning it, Harry pointed his wand and shouted: "WADDIWASI!"  _Thank you, Remus_. He spared a thought for his old DADA professor, who taught him how to banish a poltergeist.

He grinned at Ginny, who'd sped over, feeling flush with triumph. "Finally!" he said loudly. It took several seconds for him to process the look on her face: dismay blended with resignation.

"Well…"

"What did I do wrong?" he asked, flummoxed.

"Unfortunately… you intended to banish it, yes?"

Harry nodded. Rain streamed over his ears. A chilly stream of water went down his back, and he shivered.

"Here, let's go back to  _The Turnip_ ," Ginny said firmly. "We'll talk about what went wrong, and how we're going to fix it back in my office."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry trudged into Grimmauld Place, feeling as though he'd been gone for at least a week. He'd performed a drying spell on himself; it left his robes feeling stiff and starchy. It made his thighs itch. So he was not in the brightest of moods when he found Ron and Hermione in the entryway, dressed for an evening out.

"Going somewhere?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "Dinner with Ginny."

Harry looked around for her. It'd been an hour since he'd left the turnip church; he'd taken a walk to think about his failure, her kind words, and the fact he'd just ensured they'd be chasing that poltergeist all over Britain, instead of just over Cornwall. Apparently, by banishing it, he'd undone the spells Ginny'd previously set on it to make it stay in one place.

She'd been so damn  _apologetic_ about it, even. "This is my fault," she'd told him. "I didn't think to tell you not to. I  _did_ tell you to follow my lead, but…"

Harry'd felt like a worm.

"We're meeting her in Diagon Alley," said Hermione. She was tugging at her ears, putting in earrings of some sort. "Said she didn't want to come all the way over just to Apparate out."

Harry was relieved until he heard Ron's next words.

"Probably doesn't want Harry to be rude to her again," said Ron.

"Hey! I thought you didn't remember anything of that night!" Harry said, rounding on his best mate.

He shrugged. "Hermione told me."

"You do have a history, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry pressed his lips together. The last thing he wanted tonight was to go down that road with them. Unless he missed his guess, the incident they were referring to had happened  _four years ago_ , and he had not been himself in ways that he had never wanted to explain to Ron and Hermione. Guilt squirmed in his belly. It hadn't even been as terrible as they were making it out to be…

He mumbled something, took a breath, and tried again. "Look, I'm not  _rude_ to her."

They both just looked at him. For the second time that night, Harry felt like a worm. And both times had to do with Ginny Weasley.

He took a very long, very hot shower after they left. When she'd sat him down in her office, a part of him had expected to hear he'd failed some sort of test and  _The Turnip_ no longer needed his services. It'd been nothing as dramatic as that. She'd just explained that she was used to working by herself and hadn't thought to warn him about the banishing. Harry'd admitted that he really ought to have followed her lead. "I just have the London case I'm working on, and I don't have time to trudge all over England looking for a particularly mischievous poltergeist."

So it was Harry who spent the next week looking for the poltergeist, while Ginny was on her own in London.

 _It's no better than you deserve_ , he told himself on at least seventeen different occasions. Luckily it wasn't  _quite_ like searching a mound of galleons for just one knut. Ginny'd showed him several useful spells to detect amortal movement in a specific area. It just so happened there were  _a lot_ of amortals in England.

Harry knew. He spent the next seven days meeting every single one.

It was mid-morning the following Tuesday that Harry found himself in Diagon Alley. He ignored the way people were staring at him. Some were awed, some openly pointed, and others scowled. Harry was used to all of this. Happily, it was raining, and he could use his umbrella to cover his scowl.

Because the store wasn't open quite yet, Harry went around the back. The door was covered in several brightly colored locks. They looked quite clownish, but Harry did not want to be the wizard who attempted to open it without knowing the correct procedures. He treated each one like glass and huffed out a small sigh of relief when the door opened.

"Must be Harry!" George said cheerfully. "Harry, come on back! We've got all sorts of breakfast!"

Harry perked up at that. He threaded his way through the storage room and made his way to the small kitchen. They hadn't been lying. It looked as though the Hogwarts house-elves had come to spread cheer. There was every breakfast food imaginable. Harry, who had not even realized he was hungry, felt his stomach rumble.

He was halfway through an egg-and-sausage pasty when Fred said: "Oh! Ginny left her cloak!"

"Oh, I can—"

Harry choked on his pasty in effort to stop himself from saying that he could bring Ginny's cloak to her. Even if he didn't see her at the turnip church, he could leave it in her office. The twins, who could spot intrigue like sharks spotted blood, turned to look at him. Harry made a deliberate show of chewing and swallowing. "Sorry, blasted wrong pipe," he said, with a forced note of cheer. "I wanted to say that I see why you went to all this effort for breakfast, if Ginny was here."

"That we did," said Fred.

"Well, strictly speaking, it was  _Mum_ who went to the effort," said George.

"We did put it out on the table," said Fred.

"Don't lie, Ginny got it all set up for us," said George. "Mum wanted to make sure Ginny was eating properly. I guess it's really struck home that Ginny's all grown up, has her own little place, and her own little job away from family."

Harry's food went dry in his mouth.

"Still can't believe she wants to work with kneazles," Fred said, shaking his head. He gestured around the room. "She gave up all this for kneazles!"

"To be fair, Ginny's always loved cats," said George. "Although she said they were giving her a hard time. I bet she'll come back."

Harry listened with one ear as they bantered with one another over their little sister, which then segued into arguing about who had the best ideas for the joke shop. He wondered at George's comment that the kneazles had been giving Ginny a hard time. Was it just because the case at a London department store was wearing her out? Or was she referring to training  _August_?

So involved was he in his thoughts that he nearly forgot why he'd come by the store. The twins had moved out of the private kitchen, and onto the store floor.

Hating that he had to do this, Harry sighed, ruffled his hair, and said: "Can I have my antidote, please?"

"Oh, right," said Fred.

"The antidote," said George.

"Let me get it," said Fred.

"We can't have Harry here importuned by desperate witches," said George. His smile stretched practically from ear to ear, and Harry forced himself to return it. Ever since he'd come to them for help – it wasn't as though he could trust the privacy of getting the antidote from an apothecary – they'd taken the mickey. He didn't know if they were just trying to cheer him up about it or if they genuinely thought it was funny. In general, he forced himself to laugh along with them, but he'd never found it particularly humorous that—

 _Don't go there, Harry,_  he told himself firmly.

The phial of potion was cool in his hand. Harry eyed it, gave a mental shrug, and swallowed it down. "Thanks, you two really help a bloke out," he said. "I'd better get going…"

There was something to be said for how much he disliked this ritual that he was looking forward to traipsing around England in search of the poltergeist. He decided to Apparate to the turnip church a little early, hoping to get a head start on finding it.  _Maybe she'll have some better ideas. Maybe there's a way to refine the spell to have it focus on poltergeists, and not every single kind of amortal there is._

So intent was he on asking for Ginny's help that he almost walked right into Neville.

"Oh… Neville! Hi," said Harry. "Sorry… didn't mean to almost knock you over."

"No problem," Neville said cheerfully. "It's good to see you, August. Ginny threw you right into work… we hardly see you around here."

"Yeah… yeah, she did," Harry said. "I'm afraid I haven't – I'm afraid I mucked up one of her cases. Did she tell you?" For some reason, he felt the need to confess this to Neville.

Neville gave him a sympathetic look. "She told me. But it's not as bad as all that, plus you're taking responsibility for it. That's good. We've worked with some people—"

But he grimaced, and didn't finish what he was about to say.

"Worked with some people…?" Harry prodded.

Neville shook his head. "Look, partly why we wanted to hire you… it wasn't just because Ginny was getting too busy, or that we wanted her to have someone watching her back during the tougher cases. But we've kind of got… set in our ways. There are certain associates we work with that – ugh. Some of them bother us."

"Oh," said Harry. "And you wanted to dump them on me until they start to bother me, too?"

This startled a laugh out of Neville. "You're funny, August," he said cheerfully. "That's exactly what we wanted to do. I mean… we might as well, right?"

"Right," said Harry. He wondered what was so bad about these associates and realized he was looking forward to finding out. "I'd… better try to figure out how I'm going to fix how I mucked up with the poltergeist."

"Hey – August," said Neville. "You might want to have a look at Ginny's notes. They're pretty well organized in her room. It'll give you a good idea what to do."

"Oh," Harry said. "Thanks. Yeah… I should have thought of that sooner."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It wasn't until three days after Harry's conversation with Neville that he  _finally_ found the poltergeist. It was a chance thing, and Harry got lucky. He was flying around over Devon, tired of searching out every amortal's hiding place, when he spotted a herd of panicked cattle. Excitement swelled, and Harry aimed the Firebolt right toward them.

The poltergeist, looking for all the world like a giant, happy cat chasing mice, did not even bother to glance up at him. Harry, who'd learned a trick or two from Dumbledore, said: " _Nebula_."

This fog rose around them with a suddenness that had Harry sucking in a breath. The poltergeist stopped chasing the cattle, leapt up, twisted in midair, and tried to flee. "Oh no you don't."

He used Ginny's methods, of course. After a week of playing hide-and-go-seek with the poltergeist, Harry wished he'd never learned the banishing spell. He flicked his wand, and shimmering, translucent ropes appeared and trapped Harry's nemesis. It gave him a baleful, angry look.

"Oh, you don't get to blame me for this," Harry told it. "This one is all your fault. You know you're not to pester the Muggles. At  _least_ three of them got pictures of you in Cornwall." Harry floated the poltergeist ahead of him. "You're going to have a nice little nap." Ginny's notes had explained the best way to deal with this particular poltergeist was to put it to sleep, and then perform the enchantments that would make it invisible. Harry figured the poltergeist was going to get into trouble no matter what, and Ginny'd decided the best way for it to avoid discovery was for it to be totally invisible. That way no one had any  _proof_.

Harry found a nice, quiet spot under an outcropping of rocks that looked cold and dank enough to be the perfect spot for a poltergeist to take a nap. He murmured a few words, and watched it fall asleep.  _Their naps usually only last three to six months or so. Make sure you write a notation on the calendar._ Harry knew she'd written the notes for herself, but it helped him with the reminder. He cast on more charm to Disillusion it, and – with a very long, very happy sigh – Apparated back to the turnip church.

"Success!" he crowed as he walked in.

"Good job, August!" Luna said. She was sitting cross-legged atop a stack of scrolls. Several were open in front of her face, but she managed to beam at Harry.

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'm just glad that's done."

She cocked her head and blinked at him. "Done?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah, done," said Harry. "I mean – I'll make a notation on the calendar, but I think I'm done. It's asleep and everything."

Neville stuck his head out of his office. "You've still got to write your article."

"I – article?"

"Yes, we're a newspaper," said Luna. "We write articles about the things we do."

The worst part was that she was so earnest as she explained that to him. Harry felt like a very stupid child. Of course, he knew they were a newspaper, but he hadn't counted on the fact that this was a newsworthy article. He rather thought it would be like the commune, and  _The Turnip_ would not bother to write an article about a particularly mischievous poltergeist.

"I… know we're a newspaper," Harry said weakly. "I just didn't think this was newsworthy."

"Oh, trust me, it is," Neville said cheerfully. "The Beast of Bodmin Moor… the Beast of Exmoor… he has  _quite_ the following."

"What?" Harry said blankly. He tried to remember if he'd read of this before in  _The Turnip,_ but honestly, the articles that had to do with beings like poltergeists had never been his favorite. He'd probably skimmed those articles.

"He has his own fan club," Luna said dreamily. "Everyone loves him."

"Why don't you get started on that article?" Neville said. "I thought Ginny was brilliant when she decided that would be your first one. It's the perfect way to introduce you."

"It really is," Luna said.

Harry did not agree. This whole experience had not been Harry's finest. He'd made a crucial mistake during the first outing, and then had been forced to rectify that over the course of a week. The poltergeist had  _bested_ him, for Merlin's sake. He'd not put a lot of thought into the articles he would write – it was the work  _The Turnip_ did that drew him in. But he'd never thought that his first article would be how he'd made mistake after mistake.

"Okay," said Harry, feeling a little glum. "I'll go write it."

And for the first time since he joined  _The Turnip_ , Harry went to his own rather plain office. It was furnished, but only with a desk and a chair. It looked like an office Petunia Dursley might use: clean, sterile, and lifeless. He had a fleeting wish that he could borrow Ginny's office while she was gone, but ignored that, grabbed a parchment, and began to write.

He was  _determined_ to get it right on the first try, or die trying.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was sitting in the sitting room at the Burrow when his turnip article arrived. To his great shock, fear stung him. For one paralyzing instant, he wanted to run out of the room. He felt seventeen again, forced into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and facing down a Hungarian Horntail. The impulse passed, and Harry forced himself to relax.

It was a special issue. The only thing in it was Harry's article.

He muttered under his breath. He'd been overly confident on first writing it, he realized that now.  _I just laid out all the facts in the most uninteresting way possible_ , he thought.  _I was trying to avoid looking like a git in front of everyone who reads_ The Turnip. Neville and Luna had ripped into it. They'd done it in the nicest possible way, but he'd gone through three blasted drafts before he'd come up with something they'd finally deemed presentable.

Now there was a tiny owl, delivering a parchment folded in the shape of a turnip.

Harry began to sweat. It seemed to take an eternity for Arthur to unfold it.

"Oh, it looks like they have a new writer!" Arthur said eagerly.

"What?" Molly said. "Didn't they  _just_ say they'd only hire someone if Merlin himself recommended someone for the job?"

"That's what it said, yeah," said Ron. He and Hermione had come to crowd around Arthur.  _Be nonchalant, be nonchalant, be nonchalant,_ was the chant that ran through his head as they read the article.

" _I never imagined my first day on the job would involve chasing a poltergeist all over Cornwall,"_ Arthur read out loud. "Well, honestly, imagine working for  _The Turnip_. I imagine they get up to all sorts of odd things."

Harry's ears burned as they reacted to his article. Embarrassment and anxiety melted into warmth as they took turns reading it out loud; there were spots that even made Ron chuckle. Until he was writing the damned thing, Harry'd never thought that he particularly cared if anyone approved or not.

He looked around for Ginny, and realized, for the first time, that she was one of the few Weasleys not in attendance. Some of his pleasure faded.  _And it's a good thing she isn't here,_ he told himself.  _You would've just bloody given it away, you git. Or she would've thought you were mental, or something. August wrote this, remember? Not Harry._

But he couldn't help but feel a little irritated that she wasn't there.

An hour later, everyone was still discussing the article. The earlier warmth had slid into something like desperation. The more they talked about it, the more Harry wanted to join in. But he'd give himself away if he said too much, he knew he would. It was why Dumbledore always counseled him to be cautious when it came to his secrets. It was no different now than it had been when hunting the Horcruxes.

 _Keep your secrets close,_ he told himself over and over again.

Just when Harry honestly felt like he was about to pop from all the tension, he noticed a glimmer of gold out the window. It kept glinting; there was definitely something out there, catching the sullen light. He walked over, pulled up the sash, and grabbed it.

It was a snitch, of course. The cold of it startled him. It burned into his fingers.

"What's that? Why'd you open the window?" Ron was suddenly at his elbow, jostling him.

"Just a snitch," said Harry. "I saw it out the corner of my eye."

But that was not the only thing that caught his eye. Letters were swirling around, looking like smoke wafting over the hammered gold. "TO ALL TURNIPS," it read.

"What's it doing out here?" Ron asked.

"Dunno," said Harry. His heart was thumping. "Listen… it probably just got out of the shed. I'll put it back when I leave."

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I – forgot I had something I needed to do," Harry said. Urgency was making it difficult to carry on a conversation with Ron. The snitch was a communication device Ginny, Neville, and Luna used. Harry actually bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from telling Ron exactly why he had to leave all of a sudden. Instead, he brushed by Ron, threw a wave at the rest of the Weasleys, and headed out the door.

"TO ALL TURNIPS. URGENT TO MEET IN LONDON. SEEKER IN TROUBLE. MIMBULUS."

_Ginny was in trouble._


	7. Chapter 7

Adrenaline went through him. He barely noticed where he was walking, and it was a good thing that he knew the grooves and furrows of the Burrow backyard as well as he did. His mind was not on where his feet were going. Instead, his thoughts were ahead of him. Harry was already in London—

 _Harry_.

His stomach flopped when he realized he'd nearly made a critical error.  _Damn it_ , he thought.  _You were about to charge in there as Harry Potter!_ Rational thought took over, and Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, stormed up the stairs to his room, and grabbed the white pebble from where he kept it in his nightstand. He grasped it. The transformation was as immediate as always. Secure in the knowledge that Hermione and Ron were back at the Burrow, he went down the stairs as fast as he'd come up, then withdrew the snitch from his pocket. As he'd somehow guessed, the writing had disappeared. In its place were coordinates.

Harry's lips quirked in a grimace. It had been quite some time since he'd used coordinates to aid in his Apparition. Dumbledore'd spent several months drilling it into him, but it was tricky.  _Just my luck, I'll splinch myself_ , Harry thought darkly. But he'd not been trained to hesitate; he fixed the coordinates in his mind, turned on the spot, and Disapparated.

" _Oof!_ "

"Oh, August, good, you're here," said Luna.

Neville was rubbing at his shoulder blade, where Harry'd landed.

"Sorry," said Harry.

"That's all right," said Neville.

"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked. He forced calm into his tone. The entire Burrow had been filled with people who would be heart-broken if Ginny were hurt. Harry couldn't let that happen.

"She's in the store across the street," said Neville.

"She must be in a spot of bother," said Luna. She sounded as though she were commenting on the weather.

"How – what-?"

Neville shook his head. "She's been keeping an eye on about eleven Muggle stores, and – we don't know what happened – got into some trouble. We have something we use to communicate with each other… just in case one of us loses our wand…"

"She doesn't have her  _wand_ -?"

"I don't know the details, August," said Neville. "We're just going to have to go in there…"

Luna took the opportunity to shove several items into Harry's arms. He recognized the feel of one of the objects at once: it was a Blind Bowler, one of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes finest creations.  _But would August know Weasley products so well?_ "Erm – what's this?" he asked.

"No more time, August," Neville said in a tense voice. "Get the hat on, and let's go."

Harry nodded and set the hat atop his head. The other two did the same. Harry glanced around the quiet park one more time, then hurried with them across the street.

Just as his foot landed on the curb in front of a large department store, sirens cut across the ambient noise of a London street. The wails were loud and insistent; it sounded like the Muggle police had somehow managed to do a sonorous charm—

Neville swore viciously.

Too late, Harry realized that the wailing sounded so close because it was partly  _Luna_ making those sounds. He looked at her, aghast. Her face was screwed up, her eyes bulging, and her hands were tugging at her hair.

Neville was talking. "Luna, I'm going to get you home, it's going to be all right, you're safe. It isn't happening again." He cut a distracted glance at Harry. "I have to get her out of here. Go rescue Ginny." Then, without waiting for a reply, he threw Luna over his shoulder, and sprinted across the wood to the quiet park.

Her wails stopped abruptly. Neville must've Disapparated with her. Feeling unaccountably nervous, Harry continued toward the door of the department store. The door opened at his touch; there was static on the knob. Harry shook the feeling off. " _Protego_ ," he murmured. A small shield blossomed in front of him. It emanated from his wand and Harry held it in front of him as he ventured through the cathedral-like lobby.

It was cool and dark. The only light came from the red flashing of the security cameras; Harry was not concerned about them. Let the Muggles think a man with an odd-looking, old-fashioned hat had stolen into the room. There was a clacking sound. Harry paused, trying to decipher what it was. An odd sound… whatever was in there, whatever Ginny was up against, it wasn't human.

The light of his shield charm revealed a pile of something in the center of the floor. Stooping, Harry realized it was the tatters of a traveling cloak.  _Ginny's_ traveling cloak. There was more skittering. There was a quiet menace in the sound. Harry realized it was coming from all around him.  _Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack_. Harry ignored it for now. His priority was finding Ginny.

Harry skirted around a jewelry display. "Ginny?" he called.

The clattering increased by an order of magnitude.

There were smudges on the floor. Harry bent down. Heart-sinking, he realized it was blood. "Ginny?" he said more urgently. He moved faster through the room. Another article of clothing lay on the ground. Harry'd already scooped it up when he realized he was holding a pale blue, lacy bra that was torn at the side. For a moment, he ignored the skittering and clattering of whatever was following him and stared at it. There was a white flower right in the front. He shook his head to clear it, wrapped it up in the traveling cloak, and continued on.

He kept calling for her.

"I'm here!"

Her voice sounded tight with pain.

Harry strode through an archway and saw her. She was sitting atop a wardrobe and – since whatever had attacked her had managed to rip apart her clothes - Harry could see the gash on her side. It was long and nasty looking. Her arms were crossed over her chest, preserving her modesty, but Harry could see her pale, slim shoulders.

"What did that to you?" he demanded loudly.

"Shhhhh, talking just makes them worse," Ginny said.

"What exactly—"

"Cursed mannequins," said Ginny.

It was then that Harry saw it: a charred mannequin with dead eyes and bloody fingers crawled into view.

"They have my wand," Ginny offered. There was a grimace in her tone. "Careful. There's a lot more of—"

Ginny did not even complete her sentence. A wave of mannequins appeared. They were undulating toward him. Some dragged themselves along the floor; others stumped toward him on shaky legs. Some were half-draped in clothes, others had a smooth plastic nudity. Revulsion kindled in his belly.

"Accio Ginny's wand," Harry said firmly. It flew toward him. Several of the mannequins reached for it. Harry expanded his shield and swept the mannequins side to side with it. They let out inhuman screeches that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He backed toward Ginny's wardrobe. It was a solid thing, but it had great gouges on the sides, as though the mannequins had tried to pull it apart with hard plastic hands.

He tossed her the yew wand, then threw her clothes at her. "How do you want to play this?"

Ginny shrugged and jumped down, swirling her tattered cloak around her.

"You shouldn't jump like that, not when—"

"It's fine," she said. "It's just a little gash, one of them had a hook instead of hands. It got me." Without waiting for him, Ginny pointed her wand at the nearest mannequin and said: " _Reducto."_

It blew apart into a thousand little pieces. Harry smelled burning plastic.

Together, they destroyed the mannequins one by one, standing back to back. Cursed they might be, but they were not imbued with intelligence of any sort. Ginny was explaining what had happened. "One of them pinned me –  _Reducto! –_ and grabbed my wand. I had to run up – oh, no you don't!  _Reducto! –_ had to run up the wardrobe and send the signal to Neville and Luna. Where are they, by the way?"

Harry hesitated. "There were sirens?"

"Oh, damn," said Ginny. "Spectacularly bad timing. I hope Neville got her home all right."

"He did," Harry confirmed. " _Depulso!_ " he said, and three mannequins blew apart.

It took another hour or so to destroy all the mannequins, clean the place, and look for anything that might indicate who the perpetrator was. Harry watched as Ginny grew increasingly frustrated.

"I know this is your case, but—"

"Go ahead and say it," she said wearily.

"We've done everything we can tonight, haven't we?" said Harry. "And you need to bind up that wound." He pointed at her side. "It's bleeding through."

Ginny blew out a breath in frustration. "All right. Fine."

Once they returned to the church, Harry went to the bathroom, only to return to find Neville and Ginny rowing.

"I was perfectly fine—"

"You weren't," Neville scoffed. "Listen, that's why we hired August. You—"

"Do  _not_ talk down to me, Neville Longbottom," Ginny said scathingly. "It could have happened to anyone." She folded her arms across her chest. "I'll partner with him, I told you that, but I don't need a  _lecture_ tonight, Neville. It's been shitty enough as it is."

"You've been taking more and more risks," Neville said, not backing down. Harry was impressed.

"I have more and more  _work,_ " said Ginny. "I've got three apothecaries complaining about their potions; I've got Calista Dapifer-Navid breathing down my neck; I've got poltergeists running amok, cursed mannequins coming to life—"

"This is why you hired me," Harry said quietly. She turned on him, and most of the ire slipped out of her eyes and posture. "I could've been with you today. No way would the mannequins have got both of us."

"Now go see Luna," Neville told her firmly.

"Go see Luna," Ginny repeated under her breath. But she stomped away.

Neville grinned at Harry. "I thought she was going to hex me."

Harry raised his eyebrows.  _Is Ginny really the type to hex someone during an argument?_ he wondered. He wouldn't have thought that of her, but he obviously didn't know her very well. It was still such an odd thought to him – that he didn't know the witch whose family he had basically adopted at age eleven. He hadn't known how passionate she was about defending people against the Dark Arts; hadn't known she took risks; hadn't known she'd founded a subversive newspaper, had connections all over wizarding Britain, was quite a powerful witch; he hadn't known she wore pretty, lacy underthings—

 _And there's no reason for you to have known that_ , Harry told himself.  _But everything else?_ He still couldn't believe how much he didn't know about her.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry woke from a series of strange dreams in which he was hunting a poltergeist that had stolen Ginny's lacy blue bra and taken to wearing it. It had seemed so urgent in the dream that he get it back to her that Harry woke up feeling slightly befuddled. His fingers twitched. He'd just been about to clasp it in his hands.  _Ginny needs her bra…_

The sleepy confusion dissipated. Harry blinked and looked at the clock. It was nearly nine in the morning; he needed to get to Hogwarts.

He hurried through his shower, threw on some clothing, and wrapped the white pebble in a handkerchief. It went into his moleskin bag. He checked his appearance in the mirror; after his near miss yesterday, he needed to be very, very careful.

Perhaps it was the reality of it, Harry thought, as he Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked up the long path to his former school. By writing an actual article, he'd committed fully to the disguise. Now people  _knew_  there was another member of  _The Turnip_ staff. Even though he didn't have a codename. More than that, he'd been solidified as Ginny's partner. Last night had been…

Harry skirted around the lake as he relived the events of the prior day. Taking the mannequins down together had been… they were working together, now. That was that.

The doors to the Great Hall opened at his approach. Warmth spilled out of the castle. He heard a student laugh, and the sound of running footsteps, as though students were racing. Right on cue, Filch yelled: "SLOW DOWN!" He stumped into view, his face tight with a scowl.

"Filch," Harry nodded to him.

Filch's scowl deepened.

Harry gave him a wide smile, just to bother him, and stepped inside. Even though the students were used to him being around, heads swiveled toward him and conversation stopped. Wondering if  _The Daily Prophet_ had printed another article about him – they tended to do so on regular intervals, just to muck about with Harry's life just as things started to die down – he ignored their stairs and headed for the moving staircases.

He was riding one, thinking again about how interesting it had been to fight alongside  _Ginny Weasley_ , when – as though his thoughts had conjured her – he saw the unmistakable red of her hair. Dumbledore forgotten, he changed stairs, and followed her. What was she doing here at Hogwarts? Was there a case? Was she in danger?

He clattered down the stairs, leapt over the railing, and just managed to catch a stair that was moving in the right direction. Lucky for him her hair was so bright. It was like a beacon in the dim light. He dove onto another moving platform; McGonagall would have taken points from Gryffindor for that move, for sure, he realized. He had to pause to rub his hip, where it had struck the unforgiving marble surface.

Ginny nearly moved out of sight. He realized then that she probably  _wasn't_ on some sort of case; she was dressed in a simple gold dress. She wouldn't wear a dress to a fight or something, would she? She'd stopped off on the sixth floor. Harry ignored the pain in his hip, and continued upward.  _I should have just yelled for her_ , he realized.  _I didn't_ have  _to chase her through Hogwarts._ But it was too late; she'd opened the door to the corridor and he would've looked gormless if he'd yelled for her attention now.

His desire to find out what she was up to prodded him along.

Then he came to a halt, his eyes popping open.  _Holy fucking Merlin_ , he thought.  _Ginny exposed that potions ring back in her seventh year! Even the_ Death Eaters  _had thought that whole situation fucked up!_ It'd made Harry sick to his stomach to think of what had been done to those third years.  _And Ginny blew that open!_ Blew it open at a time when Dumbledore had not been anywhere near the school. She could have been  _killed_.

A little angry now, Harry yanked open the door to the sixth-floor corridor. There were a few pockets of students here and there, but no bright red head. No Ginny. He walked down the hall, wishing it were a weekday and the students were in class. Finally, just when he was about to give up, he heard Horace Slughorn exclaim: "Ah, Miss Weasley! Just in time!"

She was too far away for him to hear her response, if she even made one. He watched as she said something quite pleasant to Dumbledore, judging by her smile, entered Slughorn's office, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Harry stopped in the center of the corridor. For a long breath, he stood there, wondering if he ought to—

"Harry?"

Harry blinked. Dumbledore stood there, eyeing him.

"Oh, hullo…" said Harry. He cleared his throat and gave Dumbledore a rueful look. "Sorry. I was coming to see you and thought I saw someone I knew."

"Ah, yes, Horace has his Slug Club breakfast this morning," said Dumbledore.

"Oh… right," said Harry. He vaguely remembered reading an invitation from his old Potions professor inviting him to some… sort of something.  _And I've no clue what happened to that_ , thought Harry. It was probably in a bin somewhere. This was yet another thing he didn't know about Ginny: she was a member of the Slug Club. Really, he ought not even be surprised by her at this point.

"Did you want to come to my office?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Harry nodded. Slowly, his thoughts turned from Ginny to August and his disguise. "There are a few things I need to discuss with you."

Dumbledore gestured. They didn't speak along the way. Harry was in his own thoughts, trying to remember everything he wanted to ask Dumbledore.  _I ought to write everything down and make a list_ , he thought. For now, he made do with listing it all in his head. When the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office moved aside to let them in, Harry was satisfied that he'd thought of everything. For now.

Extra precautions were taken once they entered the room. While Harry admired the silver and bronze instruments, Dumbledore added several charms to prevent anyone from listening in on them.

"Forgive an old man's paranoia, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Nothing to forgive," Harry murmured. And it was true. Dumbledore's paranoia had saved Harry's  _directly_ on at  _least_ four different occasions.

"I greatly enjoyed your first article," Dumbledore told him.

Harry felt a flush of pride. "Oh… well, honestly, I kind of flubbed that case."

"To the great entertainment of those who read  _The Turnip_." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "Minerva read it out loud to us… Hagrid is now your greatest fan. Although… I suppose he always has been."

Warm pleasure filled him. "Hagrid liked it?" he asked eagerly, before he could stop himself.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore. "It was clever, informative, and funny. Well done, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Thanks." It took some effort not to press Dumbledore for more details. "But I had a few questions…"

"Yes?"

"Well, for one, the pebble," said Harry. "I nearly forgot it yesterday when – uh, I had to Apparate to London. I remembered just in time to grab it from Grimmauld Place, but it was a close call. I have it in my moleskin"—Harry withdrew it from his robes to show it to Dumbledore—"but I am hoping there's something less – less bulky. Subtler, I supposed. But I know the magic will reach through most substances."

"Hmm," said Dumbledore.

They spent the next fifteen or so minutes discussing whether or not Dumbledore ought to change the magical property of the pebble and have it be something Harry kept on him at all times and activated with a spell. "The problem with that is that those types of transfigurations need to be renewed every week or so. The spell would work only for a finite amount of time." This gave Harry pause. While he was usually up at Hogwarts once a week or so, he didn't think it was a good idea to have a finite transfiguration. It'd been fine when using Polyjuice for brief excursions as Barry, the Muggle boy. But he was  _working_ with these people. He was partnering with Ginny. If he slipped up, it wouldn't be a matter of him slowly starting to transfigure from Barry to Harry – August Peverell would immediately become Harry Potter.

Harry didn't want that.

"I could hide it under your skin," Dumbledore suggested, almost idly.

"I – what?"

It became apparent to Harry during the following explanation that this type of transfiguration object worked best if affixed under the skin. That way it was always available. Instead of carrying it around with him and take the chance of it getting lost, Harry could tap the "small, very painless bump"  _under his skin_ and go from Harry to August and back to Harry at will. While this would be far more convenient, Harry could not repress a certain amount of indignation that he had to mutilate his body—

"It's hardly mutilation, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It won't even hurt. The spell is very painless—"

Harry shook his head. "After having my arm sliced open in a graveyard to aid in Voldemort's return—"

"There won't be any blood," said Dumbledore. "It's not a dark ritual. It's really more like it's being tucked in."

"Yeah, let's sing it a lullaby and just  _tuck it in_ right under my skin," said Harry, feeling particularly resentful. His fingers plucked at the frayed ends of the cozy chairs Dumbledore kept in his office.  _You're acting like a coward_ , he told himself.  _It's silly… Dumbledore says it doesn't hurt. It's not a dark ritual. And honestly, you nearly forgot the pebble at Grimmauld Place. What's to say that won't happen again?_

In the end, Harry watched as Dumbledore very delicately peeled back Harry's skin. They'd chosen the inside of Harry's left wrist as the best possible spot. True to Dumbledore's promise, it didn't hurt. But Harry found it quite odd to stare down into the inside of his arm. It was mostly red and squishy looking and was crossed with blue veins. The white pebble was tucked under the veins. A tingle went through his arm at the motion, but it didn't  _hurt_ ; it just felt damned odd.

Within moments, his skin was back on where it was supposed to be. The pebble was now a small bump in his arm. Harry eyed it critically. It was precisely the same color as the skin around it; it didn't look red or infected or in any way remarkable. It just looked like… a bump.

"And I just tap it with my wand?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Why don't you try it now?" Dumbledore suggested.

Harry strode over to a mirror near Fawkes's perch and drew his wand.  _Tap._ August.  _Tap_. Harry.  _Tap_. August.  _Tap tap tap_. Harry, August, Harry. Now that it was over and done with, he could not help but feel deeply impressed by the sheer skill of what Dumbledore had created. No wonder Voldemort had feared him; the things Dumbledore could do were more miracle than magic.

"Looks good," he said finally. Then, not looking at Dumbledore, he said very carefully: "Is there any way that the transfiguration spell could be extended to – say – my wand?" He did not want to make it clear that these people knew Harry and might recognize his wand if they saw it clearly enough.

"It already is," said Dumbledore, sounding surprised. "I thought you knew that. Pictures of your holly and phoenix wand have been featured in  _The Daily Prophet_ often enough that I made it part of the transfiguration spell from the start. That, and your Patronus."

"You changed my Patronus?" Harry said, angry. His Patronus had always symbolized his father; he did not like the idea of anyone – not even Dumbledore! – changing that. It was the deepest part of him.

"I did not change it, I know how much it means to you," Dumbledore assured him before Harry could muster up any more righteous indignation. "I did not and would not change your Patronus. However, I obscured it. Should you ever have to cast it in front of your new colleagues, it will be obscured from their view."

Harry nodded. His limbs relaxed. "Sorry," he said. "It's just that it's the only thing I really have from my dad…" It seemed silly to say it out loud. But Harry couldn't take it back and couldn't deny the veracity of the statement.

"I understand," Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry sat quietly for a time. Dumbledore did not press him to talk; instead, he made tea and handed Harry a cup. Harry sipped the hot liquid; the scent of blood oranges and honey filled his nostrils. There were still things he needed to ask Dumbledore, such as what kind of wards he would suggest for the turnip church. Harry assumed Ginny, Neville, and Luna had placed wards, but Dumbledore was quite a lot smarter than any other wizard of Harry's acquaintance. He would know things they didn't.

"So," said Harry. "What kind of information can you give me about wards?"

"Ah, to protect the location of  _The Turnip_?" Dumbledore asked.

Two hours later, Harry's head was spinning from all the information Dumbledore had handed him. His arms were full of books ("Just to help you with the wards," Dumbledore'd said, eyes twinkling), and his mind felt foggy and stuffed with too much knowledge. As he walked down the stairs (in a much more sedate manner than he had going up), he looked over each of the students. It wouldn't be very likely to run into Ginny. Harry'd avoided the Slug Club as much as he could, but even he knew that they didn't tend to run this long.

But still, he couldn't help looking for her.

_Ah well, I'll see her next time I go to work._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Two evenings later, Harry arrived at the church. Instead of heading straight in as he usually did, Harry eyed the building critically. It looked rundown from the outside. Harry knew this was not true of the inside, but Dumbledore had explained that it was a tricky bit of magic that ought to be replaced every once in a while. Otherwise the rooms might collapse in on themselves.

 _It's not that I think they're incompetent,_ Harry assured himself.  _It's just that I think they're young – especially Ginny. It's not like I knew any of this stuff before I started asking._ In truth, Harry had spent the last two days buried in research. To Ron's bafflement, he'd not even come out to play wizarding chess. At least Hermione wasn't there to get suspicious; she'd left three days ago for another international job. This time she was headed to Latvia.

He scratched at his nose. It was still odd to him to touch anywhere near his eyes and not feel the cool wire and lenses of his glasses.

" _There_ you are." Ginny sounded impatient.

Harry looked at her. She was dressed in her traveling cloak and had her Blind Bowler in her hands. She was spinning it around. "Oh, am I late?"

"No," said Ginny. "But you've been standing out here a while."

"I was wondering these last few days how you – how  _we_ – are protected here," Harry said. He made his words direct. There was no need to dissemble; there was no reason why August wouldn't be concerned with his own safety, especially knowing they were deliberately keeping things from the Ministry.

"We've got loads of wards," said Ginny.

"Yes – but which?" Harry asked.

"We've made the place Unplottable, Untraceable, Untouchable; we also add and renew basic wards all the time," Ginny said coolly. "Short of putting the place under the Fidelius, it's as safe as can be. My childhood home doesn't have wards as safe as this," she said.

"I just wondered—"

"I know. And these are good questions. We just need to get to London."

Harry'd made a little model of the turnip church and had done some fairly advanced magic to it. He'd been looking forward to showing her. "I just wanted to show—"

"Can it wait until after?" Ginny said, in a tone that made it an order and not a request. "We've got to get to London. Muggles in danger, remember?"

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making a retort. "Let me just… run this inside," he said. "I can show you later." He shifted the hat case in his arms – it was getting quite heavy – and took the stairs at a run. Honestly, Ginny'd reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall. That's why he was hurrying.

"And grab your Blind Bowler!" she called after him.

Harry placed his hat case on a rickety little desk right in the entrance, summoned a Blind Bowler, and slammed it on his head.

"Ginny in a hurry?"

Harry startled. He hadn't even noticed Neville there, eating a pastry.

"Yeah, we have to go," said Harry.

"She's just mad it bested her," said Neville. "Trust me. She's going to take out her aggression tonight. I would  _not_ want to be a cursed mannequin right now, believe me."

Harry gave him a crooked grin. It was weird for him to imagine Ginny taking down cursed objects. "Or her partner?"

"Nah, you'll be fine once she starts slinging spells," said Neville.

Harry laughed, cast a nervous glance at the door, and said: "I'd better not keep her waiting—"

"Yeah," said Neville. "You'd better go. Good luck!"

It turned out that Harry needed all the help he could get. The first department store they visited was just about to close. The manager, a man who was obviously quite proud of working for such an illustrious store, shooed them away before either one of them could open their mouths. Harry noticed that Ginny's were pressed tight in disapproval. The second store, slightly smaller and less famous, was completely deserted. Harry mumbled his spell and discovered that no one had performed anything magical here at all. They searched every inch of the place, using only the light of their wands and the impersonal red blinking of the security cameras to light their way.

The evening wore on.

The third, fourth, and fifth department stores showed magical activity, but nothing at all like a curse. "Must be some witch," said Ginny. They were examining the cosmetic counter, where Ginny's spell had detected magic used. "Look, it was a replication spell. She must've found something she liked and not wanted to pay for it."

 _Could've been a wizard,_ Harry'd wanted to say. But he could not quite bring himself to say something so inappropriate to his best mate's little sister.

The seventh department store was the smallest and most famous of all. Everything about it spoke of immense wealth and careful artistry. Harry, who did not much care about these things, found it ostentatious. It was a place Draco Malfoy would shop, he figured, should Draco Malfoy ever bring himself to enter a Muggle establishment.

The air inside was unnaturally cold. He exchanged a quick, sharp glance with Ginny. It was nearly four in the morning; they'd spent the whole night chasing after a phantom Muggle-baiter. This was the first sign of anything odd.

Everything had been painted with an angry red.

Ginny murmured a spell. "Well, the paint's not coming off," she said.

As though her words had triggered it, darkness descended. It was so black and absolute that Harry could not see even the light on the tip of his wand. Nothing intruded into that darkness. Not his magic, not the full moon outside, not the constant blink of the cameras Muggles used to so jealously guard their valuables. For one panicked moment Harry felt like he was back fighting Voldemort; weak, terrified, and being smothered by Voldemort's magic. His heart leapt into a faster pace.

"That's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Ginny said. He felt her touch on his arm; she was clasping it. "I think I remember the way out."

She led him back out the door. Harry hoped that his moment of panic had not been at all apparent to Ginny.  _But why else are we leaving?_ He asked himself.  _Why wouldn't we try to find out if whoever is doing that is still there?_

Sudden visibility was nearly as shocking as the sudden darkness. Ginny was looking at him, lips pursed. "I don't know how you feel about walking into traps, but I avoid it," she told him. "Notice how the darkness came as soon as I said something?"

"Yeah—"

"He or she was listening," said Ginny. This did not seem to frighten her; in fact, she seemed irritated. Harry could understand why. He'd been chasing this person for one night. How many weeks had Ginny been working on this case?

Harry turned to look at the store. It was still dark inside the vestibule. It was so deeply black that it appeared to suck up any of the light that shone onto it. Whatever was happening inside that darkness, Harry was glad Ginny was not part of it. Harry, however, itched to duel whoever was behind all of this. Adrenaline kept his heart racing. " _Homenum revelio_ ," Harry said. His wand was pointed straight at the building.

Nothing.

Harry's eyebrows flew upward and he stared at Ginny. "Whoever's behind it isn't even in there!" he said, outraged.

Her face twisted. "I've been trying to pin him – or her – down  _for weeks_ ," she said angrily. "Why department stores? Why London? Why mannequins, why paint, why all this destruction? And why isn't he or she even here to gloat?" Outrage colored her tone. It answered Harry's own.

"Does any of the rest of that even matter?" Harry demanded.

She looked at him. "Motive always matters," she said. "I mean – it's clear they want to harm Muggle businesses. But do these businesses in particular matter?"

Ginny laid it all out for him in quiet, tense tones. Harry listened attentively. Every once in a while, he got lost in momentary astonishment. He'd never known Ginny to  _talk_ so much. Oh, she wasn't stupid. Far from it. But he'd always figured her for a little shy.  _At least around you_. It was an uncomfortable thought. But she told him all the facts of the case as they watched the darkness inside the store break apart. Now it looked like rivers of darkness rippling to and fro.

"I think that's all we're going to get for tonight," said Ginny, with a huge sigh of regret. "I have a few contacts at the Ministry. I need to head back to the church and warn them that this store needs Ministry attention."

 _Is she going to tell Arthur about it?_ Harry wondered. Harry still didn't quite understand why they'd retreated. Sure, the perpetrator was not there, but they could've worked out their energy by searching the damned place. Maybe they could've met up with some of those cursed mannequins… Harry would not mind blowing up some cursed objects right now.

"We don't deliberately walk into traps," Ginny told him, as though she understood. "Sometimes it's hard not to but trust me, I've learned the hard way that walking into a trap is not  _ever_ the smart thing to do."

Harry sighed. "He did know we were there," he said, begrudgingly.

"Or she. They knew we were there. It would have been very stupid to walk further into a trap."

Harry nodded. He did not want to tell her that a part of him wished they had. That they hadn't wasted this whole night chasing something that managed to elude them. His thoughts were heavy with failure as they Apparated back to the church. Ginny went straight to her office to send a message to the Ministry. Harry took the hat case he'd left on the table and put it in his own empty office. Perhaps he could show them his ideas at another time.

For now he needed bed and sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

 _Remember, they don't know you've got any reason to be frustrated,_ Harry told himself for the third time. The last four nights had been spent running around London. Harry was tired of being foiled at every turn; he felt like whoever was out there was watching them and laughing. They were no closer to finding him than when they started. The Ministry did not seem to care about what was going on. And Harry had a much better understanding of Ginny's irritation.

He was struggling to hide his own during a dinner at the Burrow. Harry'd arrived some time before five and immediately got to work on chores.

The front yard was practically over-flowing with gnomes. One by one, Harry threw them over the fence. It was only when he heard the distinct crack of Apparition that he realized he'd been waiting for Ginny to arrive.  _That's her_ , he thought.  _Everyone else is here_. The desire to do chores fled; he dropped the gnome he'd just been about to toss and turned back toward the house.

He was not paying much attention to where he was going, and he walked straight into Ron.

"Watch it," Ron said affably. "What've you been doing out here?"

"Getting rid of the gnomes," Harry grunted. He was looking over Ron's shoulder. A long mane of red hair disappeared around the corner of the crooked house.

"Listen," Ron said, lowering his voice, "I've got something to tell you."

Slowly, and with some reluctance, Harry looked at him. He knew that tone. "Where's Hermione?" Harry asked.

"She's still at work, sent an owl saying she'd be late," said Ron. His hand came down on Harry's shoulder and Harry found himself steered out to the stone fence that separated the yard from the orchard. "I was at work today, and I saw Malfoy."

Ron had had several jobs over the last couple years since Voldemort's defeat. But he'd stuck with driving for the Knight Bus the longest. Harry thought Ron would get bored after a couple months, but he'd started right after last Christmas and had been driving people all over Britain ever since.

"Is this going to be another story like McLaggen?" Harry asked suspiciously. A couple months ago, Ron had told him that a fellow Gryffindor had been much too drunk to Apparate and had apparently brought a witch home with him. They'd begun using the beds for a purpose that Ron assured Harry was  _not allowed_ on the Knight Bus.

"No," said Ron. "But it's weird, isn't it? Why didn't he Apparate? He wasn't drunk, and he knows how to. It's not like the Ministry has done anything whatsoever to limit former Death Eater movements," he added bitterly. "It was just weird."

It was a little odd. The image of Draco Malfoy sitting in the Knight Bus was an incongruous one. "Wait, you did mean  _Draco_ , right? Not Lucius?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, it was Draco," Ron said. He shook his shaggy head. " _Lucius_  Malfoy on the Knight Bus would've been even more bizarre." He was quiet a moment; Harry could tell he was contemplating this. "Yeah, it was Draco."

"Did he say anything?" Harry leaned up against the fence. The stone was cool and wet from the drizzle. A chance glance up at the Burrow distracted him. Was that Ginny looking out at them from one of the upper floors? He squinted, trying to see. There was a bright splash of red, but between the coming twilight and the grey sky, Harry couldn't tell if it was her or not.

"Harry? Harry!"

"What, sorry," said Harry.

"I said he didn't say anything," said Ron, exasperated. "Not even one of his snide comments. Just gave me a once over, a nasty little smile, and some knuts. No tip, but I didn't expect a tip from the bugger."

"Where'd he go?"

"A wizarding pub just outside of Brighton," said Ron. "Apparently it's pretty famous."

Harry discussed it with Ron until Molly called out to them that dinner was ready. It  _was_ odd for Malfoy to take the Bus  _to_ a pub. It wasn't uncommon for Ron to do a lively business driving around wizards and witches who'd had too much to drink. From what Harry understood of Ron's job, that was basically their bread and butter. They wondered together if Draco was trying to intimidate Ron for some reason; the idea of Ron being intimidated by Draco in any way was laughable, but Draco might not think so.

" _Boys_!" It was third time Molly had called them.

"Sorry!" shouted Ron.

"We're coming!" said Harry at nearly the same instant.

They trudged in. Everyone was already sitting around the table looking quite cross that they'd had to wait. Harry felt a trickle of embarrassment. He hurried to the sideboard, filled a plate, and was just pulling a chair back when—

"Here, Harry," said Charlie. He'd stood and skirted around the table. The chair Harry'd just been about to take was pulled from his grasp.

Harry, who'd been happy to see there was an empty spot next to Ginny, said: "I was about to sit there—"

"I don't mind sitting next to Ginny," Charlie said affably. "Don't want to split up the dream team. Ron wants to sit next to his girlfriend."

The twins laughed.

"Honestly, Charlie," said Arthur, but he sounded both tired and amused.

 _I would've been perfectly fine sitting next to Ginny_ , Harry thought. It was with both reluctance and annoyance that he went over to Ron's side of the table. Charlie slid into the spot Harry'd been about to take. Harry sat in his chair next to Ron, feeling his earlier irritation return.  _Get a handle on it_ , Harry told himself. At least from this position, he could eye her without anyone knowing it. She spoke unblushingly about the kneazles she was now "training to grab butterbeer" from the ice box. When  _The Turnip_ inevitably came up, her contribution was minimal.

Harry could not help but be impressed.

As Harry helped the twins and Ron clear the table and start the dishes, he could not help but think this was a very normal stretch of time at the Burrow. He spent time with Ron, they all gathered together, and then they drifted apart. No wonder Harry hadn't had any idea that Ginny was more than just the baby of the family who'd taken him in. They hadn't exchanged a single word. In fact, other than a few exchanges on each other's birthdays, or Christmas, Harry could not think of a single conversation he'd had with her that was more than a few sentences long. He couldn't count the diary incident, and even the locket incident hadn't been much.  _No wonder I had no clue_ , he thought.  _I've never noticed that even though I'm in the same room with her all the time, I don't spend any time with her_.

In truth, that eased some of the guilt Harry didn't even know he carried. His realization provided clarity; things made more sense. And—

"Deep thoughts, mate?" Ron asked teasingly.

Harry was drying the last of the dishes, while the twins finished packing up the leftovers and putting them in the large ice box.

"Nothing serious," Harry lied.

"That's Harry," Fred said cheerfully.

"Never a serious thought in his little head," said George.

"True," said Ron.

Harry glared at him in mock betrayal. "I'm  _hurt_ , Ron," he said.

"Ha-ha," said Ron.

After they'd finished up in the kitchen, Fred and George drifted up the stairs, Ron headed for the bathroom ("I'll be a while," he told Harry, who hadn't particularly wanted to know). Harry decided to test his theory that perhaps Ginny would not be so surprising if he got to know her a little better. From the murmur of voices, she was in the sitting entry room, laughing softly at something her mum said. Harry paused in the doorway. To his displeasure, she was already wearing her traveling cloak and was hugging Bill. She'd done some sort of twist to her hair since she'd left the table; instead of it flowing down her back, it was in an untidy little bun. He stepped forward, hoping to get a chance to say goodbye, at least—

A hand clapped his shoulder.

"Harry," Arthur said eagerly. "I've got something to show you."

Harry could hardly refuse. Instead of joining the cozy little scene and figuring out more of the mystery that was Ginny, Harry followed Arthur through the cramped hall, out the door, across the yard, and into the shed.

For as long as Harry'd known him, Arthur had a keen love for anything Muggle. His shed was packed with Muggle things, from the seven footballs in a nice stack in the corner, to the bubbling coffee-maker on a small, battered table. Arthur pointed at it proudly. "Look! They've discovered how to make coffee!" This was said with glee.

"I think they've known how to make coffee for quite some time," said Harry.

"Ah yes, but this machine… it makes it nearly as good as  _we_ make it," said Arthur. He sounded like a proud parent. "And look! It even cleans itself!"

Harry did not think that Muggles had discovered how to create self-cleaning coffee machines, but he did not want to argue about it when it obviously made Arthur so happy. Instead, he smiled at him, and nodded his head in what he hoped was a pleasant matter. "That's brilliant of them," said Harry. His eyes roamed restlessly over the shelves. There was another coffee pot, a pair of child's sneakers, the kind that lit up at each step, and a plaque with a plastic fish affixed to it. The fish was right next to a camera whose battery had not yet died. A red light was blinking on it.

Harry's eyes narrowed on the camera. It reminded him of the security cameras in all the department stores he and Ginny'd been going to. He stared at it, irritated. A small, half-formed thought nudged at him. In truth, neither one of them had given any thought to the cameras. They'd been looking for anything magical, and had been increasingly frustrated to come up empty night after night. Especially when the mannequins were getting so destructive.  _We never thought to check because they're such Muggle objects,_ thought Harry.  _There are all manner of ways to spy on someone using magic… we never even thought they could be doing it a Muggle way._

Harry wanted to Apparate straight to the church. He wanted to open his mouth and ask Arthur all sorts of questions about how a camera could be enchanted. He wanted to go straight into the sitting room and tell Ginny he thought he might have a lead for their case. Instead, Harry forced himself to remain at the Burrow and remain silent.  _Play it cool_ , he reminded himself.  _Play it cool_.

"I like the camera," Harry told Arthur.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next day, Harry was half an hour earlier arriving at the church than he said he was going to be. He had no desire to meet an impatient Ginny. They still hadn't gone over the wards he wanted to put up around the church, nor had he been reassured that the enlarging charms they'd placed in every room in the church were replaced at the proper times. If they collapsed in on themselves, Dumbledore had reassured Harry, the destruction would be devastating.

So, he surprised them in the middle of a meeting he had not been invited to.

"Ginny!" he called. "Oh – erm – hi—"

"Hi, August," Luna said brightly. Harry had not seen her since that night Neville'd had to Apparate her back to the church. She appeared fully recovered from whatever hearing the Muggle sirens had provoked in her.

"Hi, August," said Neville.

"Hi," said Ginny.

"Erm – sorry if I was interrupting anything," said Harry.

"You weren't," Neville assured him. "We were just finishing up having a bite to eat."

Harry noticed the paper wrappings and crumbs spread out around the table. "Ah, that's nice," he said. There was an awkward moment when he wondered why he had not been invited.  _Well, they still think August's basically a stranger_ , Harry pointed out fairly.  _Why would they invite him to come eat with them?_

"Listen," he said. His eyes met Ginny's. "I think I might have got our case figured out…"

Her eyebrows flew upward.

"Well, maybe," Harry hastened to qualify. He brought out the security camera he'd taken from the fourth department store he'd visited. It'd been annoying work, but he'd finally found what he'd been looking for. "Here," he said, feeling a moment of triumph. He'd needed this after the poltergeist. " _Vestigium_."

The security camera did not do anything spectacular. A greenish blue haze appeared above it like sparkling dust motes. It remained indistinct and fuzzy for a few moments, then slowly began to coalesce into the shape of an eye. It hovered over it. He met Ginny's eyes, then looked away quickly.  _I got the idea looking around your dad's shed,_ he said silently. "I got the idea because we – we've been checking for all sorts of magical residue on the cursed objects themselves. But I got to thinking that the last few times he's  _known_  where we were."

"You know we're looking for a wizard?" Neville said sharply.

"Er – no," Harry admitted. "I just said 'he'. Could be a witch. But I think whoever is doing this is a Muggleborn."  _I lived with Muggles almost half my life, and lived with them again during summers, and I still didn't think of it until earlier today._ "I don't think too many wizards would know how to work security cameras. I certainly don't."

"A Muggleborn," Ginny said, arrested. "I've been assuming this was just… random Muggle-baiting on a slightly grander scale."

"It's what you said the other day," said Harry. "Motive is important; you said it seemed random. What if there's this whole different context we're missing?"

"Clearly," Ginny said thoughtfully.

"I guess it could be someone who took Muggle Studies," Harry pointed out. He had a feeling he was right about it being a Muggleborn, but he was learning that he couldn't rely on his instincts for everything.

Ginny and Neville turned to Luna. After a moment, Harry did as well.

"We didn't study this, but I didn't go all the way to NEWT levels," said Luna. There was a tight look on her face. "Once Voldemort took over and Dumbledore left Hogwarts, we… didn't study funny Muggle artefacts anymore."

"Unfortunately, the connection between this camera and whoever cast the charm – witch  _or_ wizard – ended," Harry said. "But I had an idea…" He looked at Ginny. "I'm sorry, I sort of went off on my own, but I went 'round to the department stores he  _or_ she is going after, and I cast my own charm. If I'm right, and if he's using the security cameras to spy on us—"

"Which he  _is_ ," Ginny said.

"Then we just have to wait," Harry said, triumph stealing into his tone once again. "We'll use his own charm to track  _him_. Or her," he added belatedly.

A smile bloomed across her face. "Oh, that's  _very_ good."

Harry beamed at her.

"How are you tracking him?" Neville asked.

Harry brought out a compass he'd bought at a dodgy pawn shop. It was a battered old thing. Currently, the needle was spinning back and forth, waiting for whoever they were hunting to cast the charm that would lead them to him.  _Or her_ , Harry added. It was going to be quite pleasant not to feel one step behind.

"If it works, can you duplicate it?" Ginny asked.

"Oh," Harry said, then grimaced. "No, I don't think so. I mean, I could, but it'd take an hour to get it right." He couldn't just cast the charm to replicate it and have it work the same way, unfortunately.

The other three exchanged a glance.

Ginny pushed her chair back from the table. "All right," she said. "I guess we better get to London."

"D'you need us to-?"

Ginny did not let Neville finish. "No, I don't think so. If we've only got the one, we don't need all four of us huddling over a little compass in the middle of a city."

She came to stand next to Harry and held out her hand. For one dumbfounded moment Harry did not know what she wanted from him. Her eyebrows winged up and he thought he spotted a glimmer of knowledge and fun in her brown eyes. It was then he realized exactly what she expected him to give her.  _I'm the one who made it_ , Harry thought, indignant. It was with a certain amount of reluctance that Harry handed over his magicked compass.

"Nicely made," she said, stroking it with her fingertip.

This quelled most of Harry's ire. "Thanks," he said.

To his surprise, she handed it back to him.

He blinked at her. Her lips quirked in a smile that told him that she'd known exactly what he was thinking.  _It was a test_ , he thought.  _She never really intended to keep it. It wasn't… she wasn't trying to assert dominance._ He eyed her thoughtfully. Her smile deepened.

"Er… thanks," said Harry.

Once more, Harry found himself on a street in London. He was impatient and kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Ginny was a pool of calm beside him; he would not have been surprised if she pulled out a set of knitting needles. She was even  _humming_ under her breath. All of Harry's pent up frustration – running around London, running around Hogwarts, running around the Burrow, even running around in his dreams – came out of him in waves. If this trick didn't work, Harry was going to have to – he didn't know what.

And then an odd thing happened.

The compass in his hand gave a soft chime and the needle did a few laps around the face. It stopped so suddenly it quivered. And Harry knew that he'd guessed right. Suddenly, all that frustration transferred to excitement. He grinned down at Ginny, knowing he must look maniacal all of a sudden, and said: "Let's go!"

They were right across the street from the very fancy store that had filled with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. This was another one of Harry's guesses. The paint had seemed splattered  _angrily_ the more he thought on it. Ginny'd agreed, that it had seemed more personal. So, they figured they'd wait somewhat near that same building.

 _And it paid off_.

There was a tiny pocket of darkness parked in between two black town cars. Harry's eyes kept wanting to slide over it, but the needle in his compass pointed inexorably at it.

"It's warded," said Ginny. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Ginny drew her wand and sent a series of pulses of light toward the dark patch. The first did nothing, the second landed, the third twined around it like a vine made of silvery light. "Nothing that'll backfire," she said. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. "Want to do the honors?"

 _Yes_ , he very much did. Harry nearly said so.  _But she's been working on this a lot longer than you have_ , he thought to himself. It was almost an admonition. "No, you should do it," said Harry. "You've been waiting a lot longer."

Her eyes crinkled at the edges. She gave a sharp nod, spoke a sharp word, and wards shattered. It made a screeching sound that lifted the hairs on the back of Harry's neck. Suddenly, a dusty old van appeared. It was a faded, dingy white. There was a pale moon face pressed up against the window, staring at them in alarm. And suddenly Harry was there, wrenching the door open, and shouting: " _Incarcerous_."

Ropes wrapped around the other wizard.

"What's your name?" Ginny asked pleasantly. She crawled into the van. Harry followed her, his wand still trained on the wizard.

"Garvey," he gasped out. "Garvey Bellingthwaite. What're you doing? Why did you break my wards?"

"Oh, don't play innocent," said Ginny.

Harry let his eyes roam over all the magical and Muggle equipment in the room. A telly screen showed what twelve different cameras were showing. There was a security camera on the floor of the gutted-out van. It was wrapped in magic. The smell of cold and slime came off it.

"Don't touch it," Ginny warned him.

"I won't," said Harry, who was a little annoyed at the warning.

"Now, tell us why you did this," said Ginny. A slender thread of magic jumped from her wand to wrap around Garvey's head.

A powerful, subtle compulsion charm. Harry could not help but feel impressed.

And then Garvey began to talk.

The wizard's face was the color of a plum. "All these department stores… so famous the stupid Muggle celebrities come in every fucking day. They're nothing but thieving and greedy bullies!" The looked as though they'd been torn out of him.

"How so?" Ginny asked lightly. Harry could not help but admire her calm.

"I bet you've never heard of Bellingthwaite's," he said bitterly. "It was a little store… a corner store. Not one of these huge monstrosities hulking over the city like fucking gargoyles." He paused to suck in a rattling breath. "It was my family store until it was  _crushed_ last year because one of the  _famous_ stores bought up all the stores on either side of Bellingthwaite's and squeezed my da out." His face was twisted with rage.

Harry almost worried the man was going to have a stroke and they'd have to take him to St. Mungo's.

"So, I told da. 'Da, I can make them pay' I said," he said. "I told him I could hound them. I could make their business suffer. 'No, son, don't do that on account of me'. He never really liked the magic, you see. He never liked me as much as he did my brother after I got my letter from Hogwarts and Mark stayed home. Well," and there was sly satisfaction in his tone. "My mannequins did their damage, didn't they? Even you two couldn't be everywhere. I harried them, I did. They'll have all sorts of insurance bills and whatnot."

"I am disappointed in you," Ginny said. Her voice cracked like a whip. "I am disappointed in any Muggleborn who – after what Voldemort did, what the Death Eaters are still trying to do – would bait Muggles in the way you have done."

Despite the fact Garvey must have a good fifteen years on Ginny, her words affected him. Harry could see it in the way his face sagged. "It wasn't about  _Muggles_ ," Garvey said, defensive now. "It was about—"

"We know what it was about," Harry said coldly.

Garvey let out another gush of words. The store was closed, his dad's retirement was in jeopardy, and his brothers no longer had employment. Garvey only wanted to do what he could to help. "I only wanted to  _help them_ ," he kept insisting. It might have been believable, except… the mannequins had not just been charmed to be destructive. That, Harry could understand. But they'd been charmed to hurt people. They'd torn off some of Ginny's clothes, and left her with a deep gash in her side. No, Garvey hadn't been just after some harmless destruction. He'd been out to  _hurt people_.

"You can stop talking," Ginny said. Garvey shuddered at the pleasant tone in her voice. Harry could not blame him. "We're going to take you to the Ministry. Unfortunately, we don't get to decide what happens to you. They do."

Garvey's eyes bulged. "No—"

" _Stupefy_ ," said Ginny. Red light flashed and Garvey slumped over.

Harry grabbed him and threw him over his shoulders. Ginny set a couple of wards around Garvey's little set-up so no one could enter it.  _Pretty sophisticated wards for a moment's notice_ , Harry thought. They were admirably strong.

"Ready?" said Ginny.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Let's get him to the Ministry.

They Disapparated at nearly the same instant.

"I think I've decided on my code name," Harry told her. They'd just dragged Garvey into the out-of-order telephone booth that served as the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Ginny affixed the note she'd written as to his culpability onto the lapel of Garvey's odd suit.

"Oh, yeah?" said Ginny.

In fact, he'd thought of it earlier that day, as he'd gone around all over London. It seemed fitting, and it would fit quite nicely with hers.

"Yeah," said Harry. She took a step back. Harry dialed "6-2-4-4-2" and slammed the booth door shut. They watched Garvey disappear. It grated a bit to know they'd done the work, but wouldn't have anything to do with whether he was punished for his wrongdoing or not.

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

A light rain began to fall.

"Chaser."


	8. Chapter 8

Harry fell into bed and slept without dreaming.

It had been a long night. Ultimately, it was triumphant. They caught Garvey, dropped him like a package at the Ministry, and worked on the story together. But by the time dawn was just reaching tender fingers into the windows at the church, Harry was done. It was all he could do to say goodnight to an equally weary Ginny, Apparate directly into his bedroom, tap the little bubble of raised flesh that would make him Harry again, and take his glasses off.

When he woke some hours later he felt alert and happier than he had for quite some time.  _It was catching Garvey_ , Harry thought. He made his way to the shower and stood under the spray for quite some time. It felt good to have the warm water cascading over his body. After he soaped up and washed his hair he stood there. He could make the shower even more pleasurable, he knew, and was just about to stir his body when there was a pounding at the door.

"Harry, come out!"

Ron was shouting at him.

Harry sighed and turned off the water.

"I'm out," he said. "What is it?"

No answer. Ron must've moved away from the door. Harry thought it was a bit rich of Ron, of all people, to cut Harry's shower short. There had been times in their fourth and fifth year when Ron'd barely  _left_ the bathroom. Harry was quite aggressive in toweling his hair dry. Normally, Harry was very glad to have Ron and Hermione living with him. He knew Grimmauld Place would be empty of people and yet full of shadows did they move out and find their own place. But there were times…

He shoved that thought away and buried it. Wrapping the towel around his hips, he opened the door.

Harry was halfway to his room when he heard Ginny's voice.

"Oh, Hermione, you—"

He moved much faster to his room. His clothes were thrown on before he was fully dry, and he found his glasses behind a cushion on his chair where he'd dropped them last night. The idea that he'd had at the Burrow – that if he just got to know Ginny better, he wouldn't be so oddly disoriented while working with her – continued to nag at him. This made him move faster than he was normally wont to do, and it was this that had him taking the steps two at a time.

They were in the sitting room. Ginny still wore a traveling cloak; it was as red as her hair. There was a smile on her face. For one moment, their eyes met. Her smile widened into a greeting. Harry felt an answering smile curving his own lips. It was going to be—

An arm came out of nowhere and blocked his way into the room.

This arm was attached to Ron, who was scowling at Harry.

"I need to talk to you," said Ron.

He tugged at Harry's arm and pulled him toward the kitchen.

Harry felt the perverse urge to dig in his heels.  _Really, it's getting a bit much_ , he thought, indignant. It almost felt purposeful, the way he couldn't seem to find a moment to say hello to Ginny unless he was in disguise.

"I was going to say hello to Ginny," Harry said once they'd made it into the kitchen.

"Yeah, you don't need to do that," Ron said, waving his hand in a dismissal.

"Excuse me—"

"We know you didn't come home last night," Ron said abruptly. Clearly, this bothered him.

But Harry did not want to let his own ire go. "You're the one who told me not to be rude to her. So when I go to say hello, you  _block me_."

"Yeah, well, you can't seem to help being rude to her," said Ron. "Listen, we were—"

"What do you mean, like I'm accidentally rude, or something?" Harry demanded. He was beginning to think his momentary paranoia that people were deliberately inserting themselves between him and Ginny was not paranoia at all, but simple intuition.

Ron looked very uncomfortable. "You're not just going to let that go, are you?"

"No," said Harry. "No, I'm not."

Ron let out a long, loud sigh. "Fine. Listen, you're my best mate and I'd die for you, but Ginny's my baby sister. Merlin's saggy Y-fronts, Harry, you had to have known she's the founding member of your fan club. And we all know you've got a lot on your mind, and you had to deal with so much – shit, you know what you had to deal with." Ron's face twisted in discomfort. "Look – remember when you got sick a few years ago? Really sick? And Dumbledore had to come and everything?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly, not sure how any of this information connected to anything.

"He told us you were delirious, but Ginny was the one who found you," Ron said. "You yelled at her."

Harry very vaguely remembered the incident. The pain in his head had made him feel like a butcher'd taken a meat cleaver to his skull. It was the Horcrux, though Harry hadn't known that until much later. "I yelled at her?" Harry said. It didn't surprise him. The pain…

"You screamed at her, actually," said Ron. "Yelled at her to just 'get out'. Apparently it cut her up pretty bad. Mum says she sobbed for days."

Harry felt a quake of guilt, visceral and real. "Oh, God, I didn't mean to—"

"Everyone knows that," said Ron, as though it didn't matter very much. "Plus… girl with a crush. It's hard to know what's going to set them off."

Harry did not think he would like it overly much if  _anyone_ screamed at him to get out, and he was hardly a little girl with a crush. Besides, Ginny'd been about sixteen? Maybe seventeen? That was hardly her being a  _little girl_. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Harry, having gotten to know Ginny a little better these last few weeks, had a thought that perhaps Molly'd exaggerated how upset she'd been. "So you try to minimize the damage I can do," Harry said. "To her feelings?"

Ron nodded. "Pretty much, yeah. I mean, again, you're my best mate, but you can lash out at people."

Harry could tell him the truth, he knew that. Instead, he continued to maintain his secrecy. "I haven't done that in ages," he said in a hollow voice.

"I know," said Ron. "And to be fair, we might be a little over-protective of her. But… she's my baby sister. She has tender feelings and you could bruise her."

This did not sound much like Ron. In fact, Harry had a suspicion that Ron and Hermione had talked about this quite a lot. It made his cheeks heat, to know that people had been discussing his poor behavior toward her. The Weasley family was comprised of his favorite people in the world, and they didn't trust him not to hurt Ginny. They thought he was just some sort of minotaur in a china shop and he was one wrong word away from stomping her feelings to bits.

"I… didn't know," said Harry. He felt rather deflated.

"Yeah, well," said Ron, shrugging. "We don't really want to draw attention to it like we're making fun of her or anything. We've all had our crushes. Merlin knows, Hermione's girlhood crush is particularly embarrassing."

"If that's all, I—"

Harry made to leave the kitchen.

Ron made a sound of exasperation. "That's not all. That was your issue, not mine, you nutter. We were worried about you last night once we realized you didn't come home."

Harry could see why this worried him. In general, Harry spent most of his time at Grimmauld Place. Still, it rankled that his friend was trying to act like his  _mum_ or something. This made it very easy to lie to Ron. "I was at Hogwarts," he lied. "Dumbledore's been needing my assistance more lately." Sudden inspiration struck him. "In fact, he's given me my own quarters there like I'm one of the professors."

"Oh, you're with Dumbledore," Ron said, relieved. "I don't want to – Hermione and I – we were worried that—"

Harry could guess what they were worried about. "It isn't anything like that," Harry said sharply. "It's – nothing like that."  _Merlin_ , these people just would not let him forget some things the way he wanted to.

"All right," Ron said. "We were going to send a Patronus—"

"No!" Harry almost shouted. The thought of Ron sending him a Patronus while he was August made horror flood his belly like ice. Everything he was trying to build would be gone. He'd no longer have a true respite from being Harry Potter; he wouldn't have a job he enjoyed; he wouldn't have a  _purpose_.

Ron looked at him, shocked.

"I don't need a minder," Harry said.

"We don't think you need a  _minder_ , we were just—"

Harry cut him off. "You know Dumbledore," he said. "He's got all that delicate magic going… a Patronus can disrupt that. And honestly, it's all got me so tired that I just want to sleep." Harry did not think what he was saying made very much sense. Surely, any second now, Ron would remember that Dumbledore received Patronus messages all the time.

"Okay, fine," Ron said after a moment. "We won't send a Patronus message. But Harry…" his blue eyes grew very serious. "If there's anything serious… anything like Voldemort… you know we'd want to help. I'm just biding my time on the Knight Bus, you know. Say the word, and we'll run off into hiding again."

To Harry's astonishment, Ron sounded almost cheerful about it. "Oh God, I hope I don't see another Voldemort in my lifetime," Harry said fervently. His ire melted away. He knew it was an honest offer; Ron would stand with him if there ever was such a dire threat again. Harry knew that. It made the annoyance over Ginny and the fact Ron and Hermione seemed to think him a child waft away.

"You know we'd help," Ron said simply.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I know you would."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry did not see Ginny until the following day. It was not as himself. August and Ginny walked down the twisted alley toward one of the apothecaries Ginny said was experiencing difficulties with their potions. "It's a slightly bigger deal than it sounds like," Ginny was saying. "People use potions for loads of things. Most everyone forgets the most basic things Snape or Slughorn taught them and they have to buy even the simplest things."

"How'd you hear about it?" Harry asked.

"Oh, one of our associates works in an apothecary," said Ginny. For some reason, this made her mouth twist with distaste. "Says there have been complaints lately about the efficacy of certain things."

"Ah," said Harry.

It was interesting, how everyone else's eyes slid right by them. They passed a crowd gathering just outside Flourish and Blotts for some sort of book signing. A skinny, fretful woman held up a poster of a beaming Gilderoy Lockhart for them to take, but other than that, no one noticed them. The Blind Bowlers were a fantastic bit of magic, Harry had to admit. The charm Ginny, Neville, and Luna had placed on them to modify them had been a stroke of genius. Even here among the crowd, it felt like the Blind Bowlers gave them quite a bit of privacy, as though they were the only two on the street.

Harry was walking along, thinking these pleasant thoughts, grateful that he was not one of the mindless fans of Gilderoy Lockhart, a fraud if there ever was one. Their eyes met; Ginny looked as disgusted as amused as he felt, and it surprised a laugh out of him.

It wasn't the main apothecary all the Hogwarts students used that Ginny led them to. They bypassed that and headed toward Burnem, Boilem, and Freezem Apothecarie, a little store set in between two larger ones. "They used to specialize in warts and boils," Ginny told him. Her lips were still curved in a little smile.

"You mean those weren't the last names of the founders?" Harry feigned surprise.

Ginny laughed.

It felt easier to walk beside her than it had when they'd been chasing Garvey all over London. Harry's steps matched with hers. Maybe it was writing the article together. Or maybe he was getting used to all of the secret things about Ginny Weasley. At that moment, Harry could not help but think of Ron's concerns. Her crush on Harry Potter was one of those not-so-secret things, one of those things he'd known for years but had never particularly cared about. It had never bothered him or made him uncomfortable, except maybe after the Chamber and after Ginny recovered from what Umbridge did to her. Besides… he was  _August Peverell_ to her. August Peverell wouldn't have to worry about what he said to her; Ginny did not care about August romantically… if he said the wrong thing, he wouldn't have to worry she was off sobbing over it.

Harry had a momentary pang of doubt, but it was fleeting. He walked through the door of the apothecary and forgot about it.

There was quite the crowd; nearly everyone looked angry.

"Here, wait," Harry leaned down to whisper that in Ginny's ear, touching the top of her arm lightly as he did. "Let me push through the crowd."

He did exactly that. Ginny followed in the space he created and by the time they reached the counter, Harry was feeling quite crowded. He murmured an apology to a witch wearing a spangled hijab, even though it was hardly his fault he knocked into her. She was using her pregnant belly as a weapon. He thought he heard Ginny snicker.

The wizard behind the counter was young, pimply, and clearly terrified. "Let me get my dad," he squeaked when Ginny told him she needed to speak to the owner.

"Now is not a good time," an older wizard said. He came bustling around the counter, wiping his hands on his white apron. They appeared to have been covered in frog spawn. "We've had all sorts of problems."

"Yes, I've heard about the problems," said Ginny. Harry shifted his feet so he was ever so slightly behind her.

"You've—"

"I'm putting together an article about it," said Ginny.

"A… wait," said the wizard. Hope dawned across his face. He leaned forward, his small, salt-and-pepper mustache quivering with excitement. "Tell me you're with  _The Turnip_?"

Ginny, Neville, and Luna had explained to him that there were certain safety precautions they took when out in the public. Still, hearing the wizard say that in the middle of a crowded store with dozens of people pressing in around him, made Harry itchy with nerves. They may have the Blind Bowlers but they were still vulnerable to attack. What if someone in this store – already angry over whatever it was people in here were angry about – decided they hated  _The Turnip_? Anxiety threaded its way through him.

Harry could hardly believe it that when he looked around, no one was paying them any attention at all. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.  _Pull it together, Harry,_ he ordered himself. He leaned forward, forcing himself to listen to Ginny and the apothecarist. Bodies pressed in against his back, making it difficult to concentrate.  _We just aren't being very cautious_ , he thought.

A hand brushed his arm. Ginny was looking at him; Harry couldn't read the expression on her face.

"Ready to go?" she said.

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said, with forced calm.

He pushed through the crowd again and was very relieved when they returned to Diagon Alley. His heartbeat had returned to normal and Harry realized he'd blown the situation out of proportion. He'd been expecting to be attacked. In the middle of an apothecary! In broad daylight. At least Ginny hadn't noticed. She was chattering beside him.

"I hope you don't mind if I stop to grab something to eat," she was saying. "We can talk about what Jameson Jorkins told me while I have a sandwich or something."

"Oh!" said Harry. "No, I don't mind. I'm hungry too, actually."

Ginny ended up taking him to a little café owned by a trio of French witches. Apparently they put normal food into a big pancake they called a crepe, and smothered it with a sweet sauce. Harry ordered what looked the least odd to him, not certain he was going to like it. Seeing Ginny'd taken off her Blind Bowler, Harry did the same. The smothered feeling he'd got when they were in the apothecary had dissipated at last.

"So what did Jorkins have to say?" Harry asked in a low voice.

Ginny gave him a sharp look and drew her wand. " _Muffliato_ ," she said, then eyed him critically. "We don't normally discuss things like that where people can hear them."

Harry flushed at the stiff tone. It was a reprimand, clearly. "I'm sorry," he said. Then ruined it when he added: "But you were talking about it in the apothecary. I didn't think it was—"

"Oh," said Ginny. She sat back. Something in her relaxed. "No, I'm sorry. I think I've said before that Neville and Luna and I have our way of doing things… we forget sometimes that it must look incomprehensible to an outsider. To you. Not that you're an outsider, but you're still…"

"Learning?" Harry supplied.

"Right," Ginny nodded. "Not one single person in that crowd heard me mention  _The Turnip_. It's a charm Luna put on the Blind Bowlers."

Harry's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "That... is an impressive bit of magic."

"Luna's fantastic with charms," said Ginny. "We didn't want to go around performing memory charms, so she figured out a way to just obscure what we were doing."

"What about with the commune?" Harry asked. "They seemed to know you were Seeker. Or do you use memory charms on them?"

"Yes, well, their circumstances are a bit more desperate," said Ginny. "Plus, we… I did things differently back before we had all these precautions. It's better this way, but when I was newer at all this, I made more mistakes." She grimaced. "Sorry I snapped at you. I'm just nervous… this is a big secret, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry. "I was… surprised that you mentioned  _The Turnip_ in front of all of those people."

"Makes you feel pretty vulnerable, doesn't it?" Ginny offered him a tentative smile.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Sorry I wasn't very cautious."

"It's okay," said Ginny. "Just if you're going to talk about what we do, make sure you're wearing your hat."

"Got it," Harry nodded. Looking back over what happened in the apothecary, he felt an absurd sense of relief.  _You're much too attached to your secrets_ , he thought. But it was a fleeting thought, and not one he gave much credence to. After all, having things kept secret and keeping things secret had saved his life on more than one occasion. "I can keep secrets," Harry told her earnestly.

"I didn't think you couldn't," said Ginny. "We were very impressed by your recommendation from Dumbledore, by the way. I know you can't tell the details – because you're good at keeping secrets – but he was impressed by your discretion."

"Thanks, I—"

"Oh,  _Ginny Weasley_!" An excited, high-pitched voice blasted in Harry's ear.

"Oh, hi, Calista," Ginny said. There was a smile on her face but Harry thought he could hear a bit of reluctance in her tone.

"Remember when you used to call me Miss Dapifer?" The witch reached out and tweaked Ginny's nose. "You were so cute and little. Still are. I'd barely have to 'Diminuendo' you to keep you in my pocket." All of this came out of this woman very quickly. Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. To his discomfort, she looked right at him. "I've known the Weasley family for  _ages_ , we were all in the Order of the Phoenix together during the war." Her face fell into sad lines. "Ginny here was thankfully too young…"

The skin on the back of Harry's neck tightened at the mention of the Order.  _Don't just bandy it about like that_ , Harry thought, indignant.

"I don't think Dumbledore likes it when the Order gets a lot of publicity," Ginny murmured. Harry had this very strange idea that if this Calista witch tweaked Ginny's nose again, she was going to get bitten. Where that thought came from, Harry had no idea. Ginny had not betrayed even the slightest bit of annoyance.  _It's probably just me_ , Harry thought.  _I'd bite her if she tweaked_ my  _nose._

"I know what I should and shouldn't say, I was actually  _in_  the Order," the witch said with a tinkling laugh. She tossed dirty blond hair over her shoulder. Her eyes wandered back to Harry. "But Ginny here was almost like a junior member of the Order! It was so adorable, you should have seen her, so little and cute, and pretending to be all fierce. Who are you, by the way? I'm Calista. Calista Dapifer. You've probably heard of me if you know the Weasleys!"

Harry, who knew the Weasleys quite well, had never heard of her. Ginny gave no indication she was going to introduce him.  _Well, I know_ most  _of the Weasleys quite well_ , Harry amended his own thoughts. After a pause that was just a beat too long, Harry stood and stuck out his hand. "August Peverell," he said. Her hand was warm and moist. Harry fought the urge to wipe his hand on his robes.

"It's a pleasure," said Calista. "Any friend of Ginny's is a friend of mine."

Harry smiled. There was an awkward beat when he realized that she was going to stand there until Ginny invited her to sit.  _Or I invite her to sit_ , Harry thought. Small chance of that happening. He didn't know this woman.

"Ah, well, look at the time!" Calista let out another little laugh. This one sounded forced. "I really ought to be going. I'm sure you know that I do some work for  _The Turnip_ … they've been needing me a lot lately. Ginny, I'm surprised you haven't tried to become an associate! I'm sure they could use a cute little reporter." She tossed another glance at Harry. "Honestly, she was just the cutest little thing, all fierce and wanting to be part of the war. Didn't understand how  _heart-breaking_ everything was. How much of a  _sacrifice_ we Order members made." Her wide smile landed once more on Ginny. "It'd be just like you to want to be an associate!"

"Mmm, maybe," Ginny murmured.

Harry was growing slightly irritated.

"I'd better go," Calista said. "Lots to do. But Ginny – do your mum and dad know you're out on a little date?"

"It's not a date," said Ginny. "I work with him."

" _Mm hmm_ ," said the witch. "Well,  _I_ certainly won't tell Molly and Arthur." Harry had an odd feeling that while she may not tell Molly and Arthur, the fact that Ginny was seen with a man would be spread about.

"You can tell them what you want, I work with him," said Ginny. "We just came to grab lunch. Nothing more."

Calista winked at them. "Well, have fun, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." And with a whirl of brightly colored robes, the woman finally left.

Harry stared at Ginny. A blush crept across her face the longer he looked at her.

"You don't need to lecture me," she muttered.

"Lecture?" Harry asked, confused.

"I hear it from Neville all the time," Ginny said. "'You're not to hex Calista, Ginny,'" she said, in what was actually a very good impression of Neville Longbottom. "'We do need her to keep an eye on things.'" She cradled her chin in her hands and gave him a heated, irritated look. "So I hear the lecture all the time. I'm not going to hex her—"

"I actually thought if she tweaked your nose again, you were going to bite her," Harry mused. "That thought was in my head."

Ginny grinned at him. "Who knows, maybe someday I will."

They finished their crepes. Harry enjoyed his more than he thought he would. "Good choice for lunch," he said. "I've never been here before. Never even noticed it, actually."

"Yeah, I like it here," Ginny said. She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her stomach. "I'm sorry, I know we sort of slowed down. To tell the truth, I'm still a bit exhausted over Garvey. And there's not much we can do at this point about the potions."

"In what way?" Harry asked, surprised.

Ginny shrugged. "Too many variables for an easy catch," she said. "We knew someone was cursing the mannequins. We don't even know if the potions are being tampered with. I mean, my instinct says  _something_ is going on. But damned if it's going to be hard to prove."

There were several reasons for this, and Ginny unfolded it for him. The potions industry was reasonably cut-throat. While Harry was experiencing some internal shock that there were actual  _companies_ that made potions and they were all, as Ginny put it, extremely competitive with one another, she made it sound like they were fortresses. "Potions research and development is one of the most carefully guarded secrets in the entire wizarding world," Ginny said seriously. "And they're just secretive all around. I used to help my brothers out in their store and a good portion of my job was running back and forth to – Oh! I guess there's one more thing we could do today."

Harry's head spun slightly at the abrupt change. Ginny was sitting up and throwing some knuts down on the table. Harry followed. Their Blind Bowlers were put back in place once they were back in the alley.

Ginny was speaking very quickly. "I can actually go in as Ginny Weasley, not with any sort of disguise. I told you, I had to go there all the time when I worked with my brothers—"

"How'd you manage it?" Harry cut in. "I mean – surely being Seeker was a full time job? How'd you manage to have another one on top of it?"

"Oh," said Ginny. She waved her hand. "It wasn't too bad. It's a joke shop but the twins have some really neat ideas that turned out to be very helpful for  _The Turnip_. Plus, I heard so many useful things there… you wouldn't believe what people would admit to the person standing behind the counter. I made some contacts – secretly, of course. But yes, it was hard. I was usually exhausted."

Ginny was not a tall woman; in fact, she was quite a bit shorter than him. But she matched his steps easily as they hurried along toward wherever they were going. Harry was fairly confident she would tell him before they got there.  _Or maybe she won't_ , he thought. He couldn't help but notice that Ginny was not terribly inclined to share the totality of her thoughts. She just expected him to keep up with her.

At only one point did he falter.

She'd stopped in the middle of the alley, grinning up at him, and telling him about how she'd made friends with some sort of potioneer. A chance glance around had him looking over her shoulder. The lingerie store was quite brazen about what it was selling. There were all sorts of bra and knicker sets, and strappy, filmy little nightdresses that would leave very little to the imagination. Every color of the rainbow was represented. They were like sexy flags hanging in a window. Harry's eyes caught and held on a blue one. It was the exact shade of Ginny's bra, the one he'd rescued from the mannequins.

"—so we'll go there, I'm sure you've heard of it—"

Ginny's voice brought reminded him of where he was and what he was doing.

"Sure," he said, because he had to say something.

"Okay, it's just after lunch, so he'll probably be available," said Ginny. "If not, we'll just make an appointment."

"That sounds great," said Harry. They were moving again. The lingerie store receded in the distance. Harry fought the urge to look back. He must've walked down this part of the alley a hundred times and he'd never given it more than a glance. "That sounds like a fantastic idea," Harry said. The direction his thoughts were taking was unacceptable. "You've got all sorts of fantastic ideas."

"Oh, thank you," she said.

By the time they reached the Leaky Cauldron and the Apparition point, Harry still did not know exactly where they were going. He suspected she'd told him the name of the potioneer – or at least his company – while he'd been distracted. He didn't want to ask again.

"I'll take us both," Ginny said cheerfully, holding out her arm.

They landed right in the center of a very grand room. Harry could not help but feel awed at the sheer ostentation of the room. The ceiling was so high he could not see it. Gold and marble pillars soared upward. Harry'd seen Muggle cathedrals less ornate than some of the carvings on the wall. He tried to stop himself from openly gaping but could not seem to help himself.

Ginny led him down the hall toward a cluster of furniture.

There were portraits in here, Harry realized. They were given positions of honor, Harry realized. The first ones Harry noticed were dressed in old-fashioned clothes that grew more and more modern the further they walked. His attention caught on one specific portrait: a witch and wizard playing some sort of magical game Harry didn't know. There was something about the man in particular that looked familiar—

"Coming?" Ginny asked. She took up a silvery mirror and spoke into it. "Miss Ginny Weasley is here to see Mr. McLaggen if he is available. If not, I would like to make an appointment."

"Miss Weasley for Mr. McLaggen," the mirror repeated.

"Ah! Miss Weasley! Such a delight! I'm coming right now," an unfamiliar voice boomed.

Ginny grinned at him. "Well, that was easy."

In almost no time at all, an elderly wizard approached them. He wore bright aqua robes and an equally bright smile. Harry suspected he was wearing high heels the way his shoes were clicking against the floor.

"Ginny Weasley!" he caroled. His voice was quite at odds with his body; he sounded like a much younger man. "What a sight for old, sore eyes!"

Ginny smiled at him. "It's always nice to see you, Mr. McLaggen."

His face fell into what Harry privately felt was comical sadness. "How many times have I asked you to call me Tiberius?"

"About as many times as I've come to visit you," said Ginny. Then, finally remembering that Harry was there, she gestured toward him. "May I introduce you to my friend?"

Harry stuck out his hand. "August Peverell," he said.

The other man's hand was chilly and papery thin. To Harry's great surprise, Tiberius's face lit with glee. He found himself tugged closer.  _What's he going to do? Hug me?_ Harry thought, incredulous. Instead, Tiberius whispered: "Watch this, young man. You'll want to take notes."

His hand went into his robes. Whatever he kept in there jangled.

Tiberius brought out a closed fist. "I think you'll find one you like this time," he said.

"I just might," said Ginny.

His hand opened and Harry saw at least seven opulent engagement rings. One was fashioned in the shape of a butterfly and had wings that moved; another had subtle little lights inside it. Harry knew almost nothing about jewelry or how much wizarding engagement rings cost, but he had a strong feeling that all of these were very expensive, very opulent offerings.

_He can't actually be serious, can he?_

Ginny appeared to be taking him quite seriously. She poked around through the rings and even tried one on. "Oh, Mr. McLaggen," she finally said with a heavy sigh. "None of these quite suit."

This did not seem to bother Tiberius. He winked at Harry. "One of these days, my girl…"

"Perhaps," Ginny allowed.

"Now, what was it you were here for again?" asked Tiberius.

"Fred and George have been having trouble with their potions," lied Ginny. "They sent me here to figure out if it's something they're doing wrong."

"Ah, yes," said Tiberius. "Some of our potions require a certain amount of care when storing. I suppose you'll want to see how they all work?"

"Oh, yes," said Ginny. "That way I can make any necessary changes to how we store them."

Harry nearly snorted.

"It will be my pleasure to give you the tour," Tiberius said grandly. He darted a quick glance at Harry. "Unfortunately, my board of directors would have my head if I brought your friend in here. You, my dear, are the youngest of the Weasley family. Trustworthy. Your friend here…"

 _He wants to leave me behind!_ Harry thought, indignant. At least Ginny wouldn't do that, she'd smooth this over, she'd convince Tiberius that—

"My friend is entirely trustworthy," Ginny said stoutly.

Tiberius cast him a glance that was not unkind. "I am sure he is. I am just as sure that I can't allow him back there. Perhaps next time…?"

Ginny glanced at him. The corner of her mouth turned down and he read the regret in her eyes. "Do you mind?" she asked. "I can't imagine I'll be gone more than twenty minutes."

"Unless I finally convince you to marry me," said Tiberius. "In which case, we will be celebrating."

"Of course I don't mind," Harry managed to lie.

Then they were walking away from him. She'd worn her hair down today; the ends of it brushed her gently swaying hips. They walked arm in arm, like old friends, and Harry wondered how much of Tiberius's flirtation was real. The wizard was ninety if he was a day; did he really carry a variety of expensive engagement rings around with him, hoping Ginny would say yes? Or was he just a harmless old flirt?

Or, worse, a lecher? Harry imagined being ninety and looking at Ginny's smooth, creamy skin and thinking it a fountain of youth. Of course, a man like Tiberius would look at her and see someone delicate and pretty, with gentle curves and—

"Deep thoughts, young man?"

Harry whirled around.

One of the portraits over-looking the room, the one that looked vaguely familiar to Harry, had spoken. Harry, having nothing else to do, wandered closer. The man was older, had a square jaw, hazel eyes, and messy, salt-and-pepper hair. A dull shock quaked him when he read the names  _Fleamont & Euphemia Potter_.

"I see they've left you behind, young man," Harry's grandfather said.

Harry could only stare at him. He could see James's features in the coloring of Fleamont's eyes and the shape of his nose. The messy hair was a dominant trait… Harry had it himself. For a few moments, Harry was a first year again, standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. This was Harry's grandfather. The only reason he looked away was because surely Euphemia was his grandmother?

And there was the thin face and pointed chin. Harry thought he might have her eyebrows, as well, and definitely her hair was jet-black like Harry's. His stomach was throbbing. "You're Fleamont and Euphemia Potter," he said in a raspy voice.

They exchanged a look that was quite eloquent for two people who were made of paint and canvas, not flesh and blood. "Ah, I think we have another celebrity watcher," said Fleamont, his tone cold. Euphemia rose from the table and moved to stand next to her husband. Right now, they were looking at him like he was something stuck on the bottom of his shoe, but Harry could not help the smile that broke across his face.

"Not very smart of a celebrity watcher if he didn't even get my name right," said Euphemia. "It's U-PHE-me-uh, not U-phe-MY-uh."

Harry's smile slipped. He may not be a celebrity watcher, but he ought to know how to pronounce her name correctly. "Sorry, ma'am," he muttered. He had never met a grandparent before and did not quite know what to do. A thousand questions flew through his mind like particularly speedy snitches.  _How did they die?_ was foremost of all. Harry pressed one finger to his mouth in a physical effort to hold that question in.

"At least he's polite," Fleamont said.

"Why'd your parents name you Fleamont?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

His grandparents drew themselves up to their full heights. "It looks like you spoke too soon, my love," Euphemia said.

"Not that it's a bad name," Harry said hastily, trying to redeem himself. "It's a very, very fine name—"

Fleamont snorted. Little flecks of paint danced around in his iris, making him look almost real. "Don't lie, young man." For some reason that Harry could not quite discern, his grandparents now seemed more amused than annoyed. "I'll have you know that I became quite the duelist before I became a potioneer solely because of the name my grandmother bestowed upon me. She begged my mother and father, you see. I'm told she was rather desperate for her own surname, Fleamont, you see, not to die out."

"He was a duelist before he met me," Euphemia explained. " _Long_ before he met me."

Fleamont took her hand and kissed it in a rather dashing gesture, Harry thought. "Euphemia came along and took me in hand," Fleamont said cheerfully. "I never even mind when anyone mocks my name."

Harry beamed at him. His grandfather was  _funny_. He longed to tap his wand to the pebble buried under his skin. Would his grandfather know his face? By their coldness when they thought him a celebrity watcher, they must have some idea of Harry's fame. Had they been besieged? It seemed so wrong for others to have known of his grandparents's portrait and for Harry to have been ignorant of it for so many years.  _I could have asked_ , Harry thought. The peculiar blend of grief and joy that Harry had come to associate with his time sitting for hours in front of the Mirror of Erised only grew. To his horror, the backs of his eyes stung.

"Thanks for talking to me," Harry managed to get out. He knew it was an odd thing to say and was not surprised when they exchanged a glance.

"You reminded me a little of our son," Euphemia admitted. "He's always – pardon me, he  _was_ always blurting things out without thinking. You look like a Dumbledore, but you reminded me of James."

"The little blighter," Fleamont said cheerfully.

Euphemia nudged him with her elbow.

Harry was enchanted by the same way they slipped from being knowledgeable of the facts of the day, but also still anchored to the age they were when they'd had their portrait done. He'd had the phenomenon explained to him by Professor Flitwich. It was a charm, of course, that imbued the portraits with sentience. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter had been granted an immortality of sorts. Why hadn't Harry ever thought to ask if they'd had any portraits? He could've spend hours with them. Days, even.

He was fairly itching to show them his true self.

"Did you used to own this company?" Harry asked Fleamont, unable to hide his eagerness.

"I did," he said. "It was in the Potter family for three generations before I sold it. I would've kept it for James, but even at seven, he is - was deeply uninterested in potions." He wrapped his arm around his wife. Harry noticed they were quite easily affectionate with each other. "James is far more like his mother… I think he will be quite good at transfiguration."

They were rather older looking to have been painted thus when James was seven, Harry realized. Fleamont looked to be in his seventies, and Euphemia was younger… but not  _that_ much younger. But the pride that suffused their faces when they spoke of their son made them look like any parents.

Harry beamed at them, unable to help himself.

Far too soon, Ginny returned. Tiberius waved to him through an open door and then Ginny was striding purposefully toward him. "Not at all informative," she said, sounding annoyed. Harry dragged his attention away from his grandparents. It was quite difficult to do.

"You didn't find anything?" he asked.

"Nothing. Tiberius let me examine the wards and the procedures they use for outgoing potions. He claims nothing has changed in how they produce them. I believe him," Ginny spoke quickly. "I was hoping this would be an easy thing to fix."

Harry let her lead him down the hall. Once she was ahead of him, he glanced back. His grandparents were back sitting at their painted table, apparently unconcerned that he had left without a goodbye.  _But not forever_ , he told himself.  _I'll be back._ He would come back as Harry, not August.

He hurried to catch up with Ginny.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry had not visited Hagrid in quite some time.

It seemed fitting to do so. Hagrid had ushered him into the wizarding world, had given him the first true stories of his parents he'd heard, had rounded up pictures of them from all their friends. Harry still had that photobook. He still enjoyed looking at them smiling up at him from every page.  _I have to go back there as Harry_ , he told himself.  _I have to talk to them._ He hadn't even known his grandmother's name… there was so much more about them he could learn. They could tell him stories of James.

There was a chill in the air. The nearby mountains were already dusted with snow and the ground was wet as Harry hurried down the hill. A wispy mist curled over the grounds giving the school an even more magical look than usual.

Hagrid's hut came into view. There was no smoke issuing from the chimney; Fang did not leap and bound toward him and cover his face with slobbery kisses. The pumpkins grew wild in the small garden. Harry thought he glimpsed a giant flobberworm staring at him from under the hut, but he couldn't be sure. The place in which Hagrid had lived for so long was declining swiftly into a state of disrepair. Harry paused for a moment, feeling a dull pang of grief.

Then he hurried beyond the hut. There was a small hillock that stood half in the shade of the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid lay sleeping under it.

A large, roughly cut stone stood on top. At first glance, it appeared to be a boulder. But a closer glance told a different story: Grawp, Hagrid, and Fang, all murdered together, had been carved into stone with their arms around each other and their faces wreathed with smiles.

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry said quietly. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes and wished he'd remembered to bring firewhiskey. There was a small nest with three bright blue eggs nestled in the crevasse between Hagrid's head and Grawp's shoulder. It seemed very fitting for a creature to build its nest there. Hagrid would've loved it. Then he spilled out how he'd met his grandparents through their portrait. "I wish I'd known about it when I was younger," Harry said. There was a white smear of dung over one of Fang's ears. Harry cleaned it off. "They were very nice people." They  _had_ been very kind. They had no clue who Harry was but they'd been  _kind_ to him.

Harry scuffed his feet and squinted out around the landscape. His words had dried up for the moment and he felt a bit silly. It was just… who else could he tell? He could tell Ron and Hermione, but he'd have to tell them why. Leftover feelings of guilt from having spent so much time in front of the Mirror of Erised (and breaking school rules as he did so) made him think it uncomfortable to confide this in Dumbledore. He most wanted to tell Ginny because she'd made it possible – all unknowing – for him to have that meeting.

There was a scuffle behind him and the sound of a branch breaking.

Harry whirled around, wand at the ready, prepared to face what was coming out of the Forest—

Ginny strode out, spotted him, and stopped no more than five feet away.

"Ginny!" he said, purely astonished.

"Hi, Harry," she said.

Her hair was in sort of a windswept bun. A tendril had escaped and curled around her pale neck. She was disheveled, even more so than someone generally was when walking out of the Forest. An apron was tied around her waist; it had once been white, but was now covered in slime and bits of meat. There was a tear in her robes that revealed a lacy green strap. Harry's eyes lingered on it a moment, unable to help himself.

"I'm – er – visiting Hagrid," Harry said. He hoped this would prompt her to tell him what she was up to in the forest, all alone, and looking like she'd been rolling through meat.

"That's what I thought," said Ginny. There was an understanding in her eyes that Harry did not think he would have noticed before he began to work for  _The Turnip_. "I miss him, too," she said, coming to stand next to him. "I didn't know him as well as you did, of course, but for someone so large, he was so very gentle."

"Yeah," said Harry. "He really was. Even finding Grawp, you know. Giant, vicious half-brother who hated him at first – or even if Grawp didn't  _hate_ Hagrid, he certainly didn't appreciate him. And Hagrid was always so patient with him."

"Hagrid understood family," Ginny said after a long, quiet moment. "I think everyone has to be patient with family."

He cast her a covert glance, wondering if she'd been referring obliquely to her own family and how patient she had to be when they babied her. Then his gaze got caught on her hair. There were leaves in it, some muck, and Harry thought he saw a white, squirming maggot.

"Ginny – you've got a maggot in your hair – hold on—"

He plucked it out of her hair. It wanted to cling to the bright red strands, but Harry was firm. Then he flung it away from them, back toward the forest.

"Harry," Ginny spoke to him in an admonishing tone. "I was saving that for a snack!"

Harry's mouth fell open in horror; surely she wasn't  _serious?_  Then he saw her eyes were sparkling like they had little flecks of gold in them and a smile bloomed on her lips. A snicker escaped him. They were laughing together while Hagrid looked on at them, smiling his rocky smile.

The moment of mirth didn't last nearly as long as Harry would have liked. A soft rain began to fall; storm clouds were racing each other down over the mountains. More rain threatened.

She used her wand to create a little crown made of grass and draped it over Hagrid's head. It took her maybe thirty seconds of magic to create it and Harry was impressed.

"Nice," he said.

"Thanks," said Ginny.

"Are you heading back to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked. "Can we walk together?" Surely, during a long walk she would be inclined to tell him the events of her day. Harry was growing more and more curious by the second.

"Another time, Harry, I actually have an appointment with Slughorn," she told him.

They did walk most of the way back to Hogwarts together before their paths diverged. Once again, Harry watched her go, just as he had done at the potions company his grandfather used to own. Ginny was comfortable with him; she'd not been the slightest bit embarrassed to be caught with a maggot in her hair. A certainty grew in him that Ron had been wrong. Oh, of course, Ginny'd had a crush on him. There was no denying that. He still kept the several cards she'd made for him somewhere in his trunk, stored with the photobook Hagrid had made of Harry's parents. But what Ron could not see was that Ginny was a woman grown. She quietly went about making the world a better place. She was the  _Seeker_. She was clever and smart and had mysterious errands to do in the Forbidden Forest. She wore very feminine lingerie. Her crush on him had clearly died a long time ago.

Harry felt a pang of real regret, wishing she hadn't seen him like that, wishing he hadn't screamed at her.  _All you can do is just move forward,_ he told himself.  _Just move forward._


	9. Chapter 9

"Are we going to do a special issue about the potions thing?" Harry asked.

They were sitting in Ginny's office. Harry was much more comfortable in here than he was in his own sparse room. Here it was nice; he might even call it cozy. It reminded him a little of Dumbledore's office, if only because Ginny had all sorts of different instruments. One in particular caught his eye: a moving model of the solar system made of crystals and other magically significant stones.

Ginny leaned back. There were ink stains on her fingers. She used her quill much faster than Harry did and was not even remotely fastidious with the ink. "No, I don't think we should," she said. But Harry detected some hesitance in her tone. Her nose crinkled up.

"Because we don't know what's been happening?" Harry asked.

"Or even if there  _is_ something happening," said Ginny.

"But—"

Harry was about to point out that the sheer number of apothecaries that reported the problem made it seem highly improbable that it was a coincidence that the efficacy of hundreds of potions suddenly changed overnight.

"I know what you're going to say," said Ginny. "And it  _is_ very improbable that it's a coincidence." Harry would have been very surprised that she'd been able to pluck the very words out of his head, but truthfully this was not the first time they'd discussed this. "However," Ginny continued, "I – we – can't just give a general warning: 'your potions won't be working, sorry'. People would panic. It would be irresponsible."

 _And Ginny's nothing if not responsible_ , Harry thought. It was true. "It just seems… these potions are important."

"Yeah, I know," said Ginny. There was a hint of humor in her eyes. "I was thinking last night that some couples may experience some life-altering consequences to their potions not working."

Harry stared at her blankly.

"You know, because of birth control," said Ginny.

"I thought – I thought it was a charm," said Harry. A moment later he was kicking himself. August was twenty-eight years old; surely he'd know all the different types of wizarding birth control. He wouldn't have to have it explained to him.

Ginny did not take anything amiss. "It's not very common; mostly it's used to regulate a witch's cycle. The charm's mostly used because it's free and easy. But there  _are_ people who use it as their sole form of birth control. So…"

"So, they'll see the results of a not-so-perfect potion in about nine or ten months?" Harry said. The thought made him want to chuckle. It wasn't  _funny_ , exactly, and the more Harry thought on it, the less funny it became. "Can't we just send out a general warning?"

"Sure. How should it go? 'Dear witches and wizards of Great Britain, do not have sex. Take it from  _The Turnip_. You do  _not_ want to have sex for the foreseeable future.'" Ginny smirked at him. "And you  _know_ that even if we were a lot more circumspect about tell them that, there'd be some people who'd take it as a challenge."

Harry could definitely see people viewing that as a challenge. Some of her brothers would, in fact. He stretched out his legs and scratched idly at the back of his neck. "I just think that babies, if they come, should be wanted," he said. "Not because their parents had a faulty potion or made a mistake or something."

"In general, I agree," Ginny said cheerfully. "But nothing is infallible. Even the charm doesn't work sometimes. And besides,  _I_ came as a bit of a shock to my own parents. I'm pretty sure they were using birth control at the time, too." Her eyes were twinkling at him again. A smile curved his lips.

"Alright," Harry said. "If it means there are more Ginny Weasleys in the world, let all the birth control fail."

She laughed with him. Harry turned back to his work feeling refreshed and like he could untangle his knot of sentences and put them in the correct order. In minutes, the only sound in the room was them scribbling on parchment.

This was exactly why Harry gravitated toward working in her office rather than his own. These brief conversations had the same effect as coffee except too much of it didn't make him jittery. Harry scribbled down some words about Garvey, crossed them out, and then rewrote them exactly the same. He could tell by the motion of her quill that Ginny was having the same sort of fits and stops he was. Through discussion with her, and her own reaction when they caught him, he knew it really bothered her that Garvey was a Muggleborn using magic to aggravate and harm Muggles.  _Not that anyone should do it_ , she'd told Harry.  _But this war was just fought… Muggleborns were affected as a community quite badly. It makes it hard to work on rebuilding when you have Muggleborns acting like Death Eaters. And over a store!_

Harry scratched out his lines again.

"I'm glad we don't have a firm schedule," Harry murmured.

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, me too," said Ginny. "We decided that would be too stressful."

Harry was about to ask her what the earlier days at  _The Turnip_ were like. Ever since he'd seen her coming out of the Forbidden Forest he'd been wanting to ask. A part of him had wondered, later, if she was working on a case without him. Was she visiting Slughorn to get his opinion on their potions dilemma? She could have been, but the thought made him feel a strange jealousy. He'd much rather believe she was following up on something to do with the potions ring she'd uncovered during her last year at Hogwarts. Or that her meeting with Slughorn had nothing to do with  _The Turnip_.

Just as he opened his mouth and owl flew in through the open door and dropped a scroll on Ginny's lap.

She opened it and her lips quirked with distaste. "It's from Calista," she said.

"Does she write often?" Harry asked.

"At  _least_ three times a week," Ginny said. Her eyes were scanning the message.

"Let me see?" Harry asked when she was done.

Ginny leaned across her desk. Their hands met in the middle and Harry took the scroll from her.

" _Dear Seeker_ ," Harry read.

" _As you know from our previous correspondence, I fought with the Order of the Phoenix, so I am no stranger to dark magic and evil people. It's the Gryffindor in me. You must understand that Gryffindors tend to be more intuitive about these things; I can't imagine any of_ The Turnip  _writers to have been in any House but Gryffindor. It takes a great deal of courage to stare into the darkness. I often wonder if my life would have been easier if I'd been put in Hufflepuff as the Sorting Hat once wanted to."_

Harry looked up at Ginny in disbelief. She shrugged and gestured for him to continue.

" _It is a sacrifice I am willing to make even though it breaks my heart. I look back at my younger self and want to cry at how strong I would have to become. But you understand all of this. I think you also understand why I can't look at people the same way since the war. I saw too much tragedy and betrayal. It is why, when I see the woman down the street who has a young son, I_ worry _. I worry because the child looks nothing like her. I worry because he often seems ill. I worry because sometimes I am walking by and see strange people in the house. I look at that small boy and think of how strong I had to be when I was young. I don't mean to suggest that anything nefarious is happening. I just think that it needs to be looked into._

_Sincerely,_

_Calista Dapifer."_

"That woman…"

"Tell me about it," said Ginny. "All her letters are nine sentences of boasting to every one sentence of actual substance." If that wasn't the perfect way to describe it, Harry didn't know what was.

"Was she even  _in_ the Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked.

To his surprise, she blushed. "Well, you heard her," Ginny muttered. "I was never actually  _in_ the Order. I don't know everyone who was in it, just the ones who came around the house over the summers and school holidays."

Harry sat back in his chair. A month ago he would have been shocked to consider Ginny would even be interested in the Order.  _I should have known_ , he told himself. Even looking at her now, her face alive with interest, he wondered how he could have missed this.  _Well, you didn't exactly spend a lot of time with Ron's little sister_. The conversation between them lulled and she bent her head back to her task. At this moment, it was difficult to remember she was Ron's little sister. A tendril of bright red hair slipped over her shoulder. Harry eyed it.  _She ought to wear a bra that matches her hair_ , he thought.  _I bet that would look brilliant._

He rubbed his hands on his trousers and shook that thought away.

"Feeling antsy?" she looked up at him with a smile. "I wanted to get this paragraph done and then we'll go."

"Go?" Harry asked.

"Calista mentioned a domestic abuse case," said Ginny. "She's a horrible braggart but she's been right a couple times."

"Oh," said Harry. "Right."

He shoved his own parchment away. It was not even two minutes later that Ginny placed her quill in its little slot and pushed herself back from the table. Harry followed her eagerly. He'd not been particularly inclined to believe the Calista woman but the hardest part about working for  _The Turnip_ was doing the actual writing. He was always looking for an excuse to procrastinate.

She led the way out the door of the church, skirting around the sentinel tree, and off to the side to their Apparition point. Harry grabbed her arm and she spun them into darkness.

"This is where Calista lives," Ginny gestured toward a small, tidy-looking home. It was attached to two other houses, each painted similar, complementary colors. To Harry's dismay, she headed up the walk.

"We have to talk to her?" he asked before he could stop himself. He'd been hoping all they needed to do was use her letter.

Her chuckle was a little wicked. "Yes, we have to talk to her," said Ginny. "Don't tell her anything important. She'll just repeat it. Just let me do the talking, in fact.  _Not_  that I don't trust you," she hastened to reassure him. "I just know how to handle her."

Harry could not blame her. This was a different sort of subterfuge than he was used to, and he was still a novice at it. The last thing he wanted to do was muck it up.

Calista opened the door before Ginny had a chance to knock. "From  _The Turnip_?" she asked in a shockingly loud whisper. Her eyes were sparkling as though she enjoyed being able to report news of domestic violence. In fact, they had hardly stepped foot in the foyer that she launched into a somewhat convoluted explanation. Apparently, it started with the way her neighbor kept her house. "My husband and I spend ten galleons a month to have everything cared for, lawn, paint, and everything. That  _woman_ doesn't pay for the upkeep  _and_ she doesn't do it herself. So of course I was curious about her; when someone isn't pulling their weight in a neighborhood it can be extremely annoying."

Harry had a sudden memory from his childhood: Aunt Petunia, giving the kitchen counters their nightly scrub, watching her neighbors go about their business with pursed lips and squinty eyes. Calista reminded him unfavorably of her.

"We aren't  _wealthy_  or anything, but we do our part to keep our little magical neighborhood looking beautiful," said Calista. "And she doesn't. So I started watching her. Her son is – he's – he looks nothing at all like her. He's also sickly. Sometimes if she's out by herself, I've asked her where he is, and she always says he's got a bit of a tetchy head or a sour stomach." She said all of this very quickly. "My husband makes fun of me but I  _swear_ whenever I hear something false, my wand vibrates. I don't know what it is, but something is wrong in that house."

"Well, that sounds like something we should take a look at," Ginny murmured.

"Oh, good," said Calista. "Of course, I would never  _want_ that poor boy to be mistreated, but honestly, it's better when these things are caught. And I knew the Ministry wouldn't even reply to my letter. I'm glad we've built up such a good relationship with one another that I can trust you to listen to me."

Ginny made a little humming sound. "We'll try to keep you abreast of any news."

Harry had to wonder what Calista would think if she knew that the woman standing in her foyer was Ginny. Would she tweak her on the nose and speak condescendingly? Probably, he thought. This did not improve his view of the witch; in fact, he found himself hoping she was wrong.

He said this out loud once they were on the street.

"Oh, me too," said Ginny, further increasing his opinion of her. "I don't care if he doesn't look like his mum. Lots of people take after one parent instead of the other." She looked him up and down in a way that made the back of his neck grow warm. "Do you look like your mum or your dad?"

"My dad," Harry said instantly.

"Oh, there we are," said Ginny, pointing.

The house was slightly smaller and slightly more garish looking than the houses around it. Harry eyed it critically. Toys were strewn in front of it, the lawn was uncut, and – he noticed with some worry – the front door was ajar. Was it neglect that had the yard looking this way? Or just a young mother too busy to lift her wand? Calista had not been particularly informative. Perhaps the boy she was worried about was left alone often. Maybe the mother in question had to work.

"Come on," said Ginny.

Harry followed her up the path avoiding the debris in his way.

"Hello?" Ginny called through the open door.

"Get out of here," came a mean voice from somewhere inside the house.

It was a child's voice. Harry was not surprised that Ginny did not obey. "I'm afraid I can't," she said cheerfully.

" _I'm afraid I can't_ ," the unseen child mocked her. Harry suppressed a smile.

"Is your mother home?" There was no annoyance evident in Ginny's tone, just light curiosity.

"What's it to  _you_?" a different voice asked. It was another child.

Harry was tempted to be extremely rude and push open the door and find them. Instead, he shifted his weight and thrust his hands in his coat pocket.  _Let Ginny lead_ , he reminded himself.

"She's won a contest," said Ginny.

There was a pause. Then a small girl's head appeared. "She wouldn't win no contest," she said. It was a very plain looking girl who reminded him slightly of Dudley Dursley. Perhaps it was more her attitude, Harry decided when she turned a pugnacious look on him. He must've been meaner looking than he thought because the little girl – honestly, she couldn't be more than seven or eight – turned pale at the sight of him.

"Sorry," he said, trying to be gentle.

"She wouldn't win no contest," the little girl insisted. Harry noticed her knees were bloody and torn and she had bruises up and down her shins.

"But is she home?" Ginny asked. "We would like to talk to her about it."

A boy appeared. He looked a couple years older than the girl. "She's not home," he said. "She wouldn't win no contest and she ain't home to get it anyway." Harry peered at him closely. He looked vaguely ill. He was unsettled at the thought of a sick child home alone with only a mean little girl to take care of him. True, his own childhood had been punctuated with moments like that. But his childhood could hardly be considered ideal or normal; Harry'd seen enough  _good_ parents to realize that.

"What's your name?" he asked, trying to be as kind as he could.

"Not telling my name to some stranger," said the boy.

"Are you all right by yourself?" Ginny asked gently. She squatted down to look both children in the eyes. "Are you and your brother… safe here?" She'd obviously been thinking along the same lines as Harry.

"She ain't my sister," the boy said, as though revolted. "She's just the pain in my arse."

"I'm his friend," the girl said meanly. She did not sound at all friendly to Harry, but he was not the best judge of these things.

"You have to go now," said the boy. He suddenly appeared to be about three years older.  _Or I was right and he really is sick_ , thought Harry. His eyes narrowed. The boy was short, round-faced, and scowling. But there were dark crescents under his eyes and the skin around his lips looked stretched tight.

"Okay," said Ginny. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a shiny coin. Harry recognized it. It was one of the coins she used to communicate with Neville and Luna. "Here. If your mother comes home and she wants to hear about the contest she won… or if you feel unsafe being alone… or anything at all. All you have to do is rub this coin between your fingers and I'll come," she said.

The boy took it and looked at it. He was practically quivering with suspicion. Harry felt a pang of sadness. This was almost immediately dispelled by the boy's next words. "This coin looks like it's got a cock on it," he said accusingly. "What, you want me to rub some cock and you'll come out of thin air, will you?"

There was a brief, shocked silence.

"It's not a cock," Ginny said coolly. "It's a turnip."

"You need to apologize," Harry said, speaking for the first time. He squatted down at speared the rude little boy with a glance.

"I don't need to apologize to her, I don't even know her," said the boy. Harry was once more reminded very sharply of his cousin. Perhaps this was why he reached into the pocket that held his wand. It was a gesture meant to lightly intimidate. And it worked on both of them. The girl was staring at him with wide eyes, and the boy was looking down at the floor.

"Sorry," the boy muttered.

"Use the coin if you need anything," Ginny said, as though nothing of import had just happened.

Harry gave the boy one last censuring look and walked with Ginny down the path and back to the street. In truth, the boy had not been as crude as some of Harry's own friends had been growing up. But still, he shouldn't have said that kind of thing to Ginny.

"My brothers were all about jokes like that," said Ginny. There was a great deal of humor in her tone. "I think it was all penis jokes, all the time."

This did not surprise Harry. Ron was still a bit like that. Harry looked over at her. She was quite a bit shorter than he was, so when they walked together he could mostly only see the top of her head and the tip of her nose. She was very unembarrassed to speak of sex or anything approaching sex. Harry'd been more offended than she'd been that the boy had accused Ginny of giving him a cock to rub. She'd taken it in her stride; same with the birth control discussion earlier.

They came back the next day. To Harry's relief, they did not bother to stop at Calista's house, though he thought he saw her pulling back the curtains to stare at them. Not wanting to make eye contact, Harry looked away. The mid-October sun was thin and watery, and there was a smell in the air that made him think it was about to rain. Not that that was an unusual smell in England. There was a hint of something flowery and sweet, as well, which Harry knew by now was the scent Ginny used for her hair.

He smiled.

Five minutes later, he did not feel much like smiling.

They went back to the door, hoping the mother of the unpleasant little boy was home. It was properly shut this time and they had to wait several minutes for anyone to answer. Harry heard the sound of something shattering and a woman swearing. "Damn clumsy," she said loud enough for Harry to hear through the thick wood.

He exchanged a quick, concerned glance with Ginny. Had that boy knocked something over and been given a sharp reprimand?

The door opened, and the boy's sullen face appeared. "What you want again?" he said. The bags under his eyes were thicker and darker. He really did look unwell.

The door swung open all the way. An older woman with thin lips and muddy eyes looked at him. "Whatever it is, you can just take it along with you and go."

"I beg your pardon?" Harry asked, astonished at the rudeness.

"My boy here said two strangers came by, saying we won some sort of contest," she said coldly. "We don't win contests, do we, boy?"

"Nuh uh," he said. He laughed.

"We don't like strangers," the woman said.

There was a finality to those words that struck Harry. It was very honest. There was an intense look in her eyes. Had Calista's petty dislike of the way her neighbor kept her home really born fruit? Harry did not want to think it. He realized that he had, in fact, been hoping the exact opposite was true.  _There's nothing wrong with not wanting strangers around_ , Harry told himself. But it was a weak thought. Now his instincts were nudging him, telling him something was quite wrong here.

"We aren't—"

But the woman did not let Ginny finish. "You've got a Ministry look about you," she said. It rang out like she was accusing them of some sort of crime. To be entirely fair, Harry could not blame her.

"But—"

The boy gave a great sniff. "They smell like Ministry."

The woman's lip curled. "Scum."

Then the door was slammed. There was the great sound of a gong. Harry's eyes flew up in his head. That was a very powerful ward that had just gone up. He stood there staring at the door for almost a minute, wondering how things had gone so poorly. He looked at Ginny, helpless; she jerked her head to the side and motioned him back to the street.

"I'm sorry, I should've let you lead," he said in a low voice. They were wearing their Blind Bowlers, but he still wanted to err on the side of caution.

"It's all right," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I think she would've been nasty either way."

"So… what do we do now?"

"I think we ought to wait a day or so," Ginny said. "Just in case. I think there's something off about that house and that woman, but even though she accused us of being part of the Ministry, we aren't. We don't have any authority."

Harry nodded, though part of him was bridling at the need to go through official channels.  _Think, Harry,_ he told himself.  _The boy didn't look mistreated_. This was what was stopping him. He'd looked sick and was a belligerent little berk, but that wasn't necessarily a sign there was dark magic going on. In fact, he'd seemed perfectly in step with his mother. Surely he'd give some sort of sign if he were being abused.

"Are we going back to the church?" Harry asked. "Try to figure out what's going on?" They had quite a lot on their plates, he felt. This case, and also the potions… they'd been working all day, but they still hadn't made much progress, Harry felt.

"Actually… I think I'm tired," she said. There was an odd little note in her voice that made Harry pause. "It's a full moon tonight, I've just remembered. And things are always a little crazy the day after a full moon."

Something nudged him at the edge of his awareness. His thoughts immediately strayed to Remus, who had quite the burden once a month.  _Remus is fine_ , he thought. And it was true. In all the time Harry'd known him, he'd only once forgotten to take the Wolfsbane Potion that turned him from savage, snarling werewolf bent on destruction to a harmless, sleepy wolf who only wanted to nap in the corner of Remus's cottage.

Except… some of the potions had lost their efficacy lately.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she told him, cutting through his sudden distraction.

"Bye, Ginny," he said as she Disapparated.

Harry peered at the sky. He still had a couple of hours… he could go home, change, and Apparate to Remus's cottage, just to make sure. It was a long time until sunset.  _I'm sure it'll be fine_ , Harry told himself.  _Remus will be fine. The potion's fine… it's one of the serious ones… there's no way anything went wrong with it._ How would a professional company go about staying in business if their potions stopped working?

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry Apparated to a small clearing in an only slightly larger copse of woods. It was not a thick wood. The setting sun permeated here. The leaves were painted gold and red. But Harry did not need the light to guide him out. He had been there before and was no stranger to the fallen log in his path nor the tiny stream he leapt over. It was quiet enough that he could hear the creatures scurrying to and fro; it was hard to believe that a lively little town was just out of sight.

Remus Lupin did not live in the town. Harry veered away from it and toward a small cottage that sat behind a stone wall. For years, Remus had lived like some of the less fortunate werewolves did. Harry didn't like thinking of that. True, Harry himself had lived in increasingly desperate places when they'd been on the run. But Remus had lived for months and years at a time in dank caves and earthy hovels. It was not until Harry'd made the decision for Remus to use some of Sirius's family's money to purchase a cottage for him that Remus had come out of the woods.

He took painstaking care of it. Every stone on the little wall that surrounded the property was carefully tended. A path wound up toward the place. No leaf was out of place on the small yard. Once given a home of his own, Remus took well care of it.

Harry was still feeling more than a little nervous about the coming night. When Ginny'd mentioned the full moon, Harry'd felt a sudden fear for his old friend. Remus relied on the Wolfsbane Potion; he relied on it to keep him safe from reverting to the cruel, savage wolf. It was instinct more than anything that had Harry here.  _I'm sure the potion is fine_ , Harry told himself for what felt like the hundredth time. But the fear that it wouldn't be skittered over him like a physical thing.

Harry nearly made it to the front door when a chance glance to the right halted him on the spot. There – around the corner of the little wood and stone cottage was something that didn't belong. Bright red hair whisked out of sight. He'd only seen a flash but that was all he needed.

Changing direction midstep, he strode around to find Ginny. She stared at him, wide-eyed, with her finger over her lips.

"Ginny!" he said in a whisper. "What're you doing here?"

He had the sense she was thinking very quickly. The thoughts flickered across her face one by one, too fast for him to even try to interpret. She seemed to settle on one and gestured wordlessly at the basket at her feet.

"I came to bring him this," she said no louder than a breath. Harry took in the contents of it: a hearty breakfast, an ointment Harry thought he recognized as relieving muscle aches, and a decanter of pumpkin juice.  _Merlin, she is smart_ , he thought in wonder. He wasn't a complete idiot. He knew she was here for the same reason he was. She wanted to be sure that Remus would be safe during the full moon. Unlike him, she'd actually thought of a cover story. There was a broom propped up against the wall next to her; it was the Firebolt.

"That's for tomorrow? When he's, erm, better?" Harry said in a voice no louder than hers had been.

She nodded. The setting sun lit her brown eyes. Still, Harry saw shadows there. "But Harry, I think something is wrong. When I went to the door, I heard him… moaning." Her face twisted with a worry Harry knew was unfeigned. His nerves sizzled.

Then he heard it for himself. A long, angry sound came from the cottage. For one, wild second Harry thought it made darkness fall… then he realized it was sunset.  _Remember you aren't August_ , he reminded himself fiercely. "Do you think… he forgot his potion?" Harry asked.

She ducked her head and avoided his glance.

Harry took this to mean she was not going to tell him about the potions.  _Fair_ , he thought. "At least the sun's only just now set, we can—"

She tugged at his sleeve, interrupting him. " _Harry_ ," she said urgently. "There's no time. The moon's already risen."

There was no time for Harry to react to these words. No time at all. The sound of breaking glass was their first warning. Their second was a long, terrifying howl. "Oh,  _fuck_ ," Harry said fervently. As Remus Lupin howled, it hit him how stupid he'd been to come here without a plan.  _It wasn't supposed to be like this_ , Harry thought desperately.  _His potion was meant to work. I was only coming over as a precaution… I was being paranoid…_

Ginny was already straddling her broom.

Harry kicked himself for not bringing his own.

"I should go get my broom—"

"Just get on the back of mine!" Ginny said loudly.

Harry wavered for a split second, then climbed on. The Firebolt vibrated faintly. Harry curled one arm around her stomach, drew his wand, and then she was kicking off into the sky so quickly his ears roared. Despite the dire situation, Harry felt as he always did those first few moments of flight: excitement, clarity, and freedom. Those feelings did not last long, not when he saw the distant figure of Remus Lupin's wolf racing toward the small town. His stomach cramped. Remus would never forgive himself if he hurt anyone.

Ginny was angling toward Remus. They were only feet above him. Harry could hear the werewolf's harsh grunts and pants.

On instinct, he blasted at the ground near its feet. With a yelp, it changed course, now racing toward the same woods Harry had Apparated into. Heartened by this, Harry sent more blasts.

"—one, Harry!" Ginny called back to him.

The werewolf disappeared into the woods. The darkness of his fur blended in with the shadows; it was only the light of the full moon that made him able to see movement. Ginny wove them back and forth over the woods while Harry tried desperately to keep the wolf on a path of his own making. A path that led further and further from civilization.

"Lumos!" Ginny shouted. The end of her wand erupted in steady light.

"Perfect," Harry said.

His arm was still tight around her waist; it was this that kept him on the broom more than anything else. Minutes slipped by. Harry did not look at his watch, but he felt like it had been hours of tense searching and flight. The night was cold and frozen; the only warmth came from Ginny.

Some of her hair flew back and got in his mouth. Harry tightened his grip on her and said into her ear. "Can I tuck your hair away?"

She nodded.

Harry twisted her hair up all together and tucked it down the back of her robes. He did not loosen his grip; she was shivering a little with cold. The least he could do was keep her warm from behind.

Another hour slipped by.

"I see lights," Ginny said sharply.

"Merlin's balls," said Harry. "Alright. I see them too. Can you fly any lower?" They were hovering over the tops of the trees, so close that Harry's feet occasionally brushed through leaves.

"Yes," said Ginny. And then without warning, she plunged them down into the wood.

Harry's thoughts blurred like the trees. His heart was racing and his blood thundered through his veins. He was certain they were going to crash; he was just as certain she'd never let that happen. These two thoughts warred and clashed within him, immobilizing him. Ginny was leaning so far forward over the broom she was practically flat.

The werewolf was under them. They were close enough that Harry could hear its growls and snarls. It knew they were there. Its amber eyes held an unnatural sheen when they rolled back to look at them. Harry very carefully aimed his wand.  _Don't hurt Remus, don't hurt Remus, don't hurt Remus_. His fear slipped away. The trees still blurred by. The werewolf howled and snarled under them. Harry kept himself focused on sending little blasts to keep the werewolf from heading toward the village Ginny'd spotted.

"Watch out!"

Ginny's voice cut through his concentration.

It was too late.

A wickedly sharp branch scraped up Harry's thigh, raked over his stomach. The pain shocked him enough that he missed avoiding the second branch. As though in slow motion, Harry toppled over and off the broom—

"Harry! HARRY!"

Harry clawed at the air with suddenly numb fingers. He grabbed onto the broom just as Ginny caught him by the robes. Clarity rushed back to Harry. The werewolf had sensed his moment and was leaping impossibly high into the air trying to bit him. Pure fear rushed into him, filling his veins with ice.

"Get UP!"

Harry was trying. The werewolf snagged his shoe. Harry kicked as fiercely as he could and finally managed to pull himself over the broom. He was hanging over it. It  _hurt_ where the first branch had jabbed at him. For several moments, Harry couldn't breathe through the pain. Then the pain eased when Ginny whispered a charm.

They were above the tops of the trees now.

"Merlin," Harry managed to gasp out. The broom was not meant to be ridden on one's stomach. With great effort, he managed to pull himself into the proper position. He was clutching at her waist. "Sorry," he said, when a movement from the broom made his hand move higher than it ought to.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah. Thank you."

"I – oh, thank Merlin," she said fervently. Then pointed.

The moon was sinking over the mountains. Harry felt a surge of relief. At the same moment, the howling from below them became yelps of pain, and then the pain-filled shouts of a man.

Remus was unconscious when they landed. The moon had set leaving the man's body looking ravaged. While Ginny politely looked away, Harry'd conjured a cloak and covered him with it. They were so far from where they'd started Harry experienced a moment of disorientation. How would they get back? All three of them on a broom?

_Merlin, I'm tired if I've forgotten the existence of Apparition._

In truth, Harry's entire body ached. His wound still pulsed with pain and he was so tired that one of the boulders near them was starting to look as cozy as a bed. "Thank Merlin the moon set so early," Harry said.

"Yeah," said Ginny. Harry looked over at her, worried.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Just tired," she said after a pause. "It's been a long day."

"Training kneazles and then werewolves," said Harry.

She snorted.

"Listen, Ginny—"

"Harry, I think you—"

They both spoke at the same time.

"Go on," she urged him.

"I just wanted to say… thanks?" Harry thought it was a pale word. She'd done most of the work. "Remus would never have forgiven himself if he'd hurt anyone. You saved him." And she really had. Harry'd been more like her support staff; he wouldn't be surprised if she'd been able to round up a werewolf without his assistance. Amazing as that idea was, Harry thought it true.

"You're thanking me?" she said in a puzzled tone.

"Well, yeah," said Harry. "He was one of my dad's best mates, you know that. You saved him."

"You were the one blasting him away from any sort of towns," she pointed out.

"You had the broom, the magical know-how, and the skill to fly through that nightmare," said Harry. "Basically, I was just the weapon you were using to carry out your plan." He was so tired but couldn't seem to stop talking. "You'd've been fine without me."

"I don't think so," Ginny said.

"I do," said Harry. "I had… no idea what I was getting into."

"I couldn't have kept him away from all those people. He would've gotten away from me," Ginny said. "I wouldn't have been fine without you. It would've been messy and terrible."

Harry didn't really believe her but he knew her well enough by now that he knew she was not going to let him win this small argument. His shoulders slumped.  _I'm twenty-four and I feel like an old man_ , he thought. "What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say that I think you should get Remus home," Ginny said quietly. "Are you going to stay with him?"

Harry figured this was her quiet way of suggesting he stay with Remus until the sun rose. "Yeah," he said. "I don't want him to wake up not knowing what the hell happened."

And so Harry got Remus back to his cottage and onto a sofa, tidied up the broken glass, and waited until dawn brushed the sky. His wound throbbed, and Harry applied pressure and a few healing charms. At one point, Remus rolled over and muttered "Dora" in his sleep; perhaps he was trying to summon Dumbledore to aid him in his dreams.

Harry let his mind drift back to the events of the night. Ginny'd been brilliant with her flying. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened had she not been there. And it'd been nice to work with her for once as Harry, not August. His eyes drifted to half-mast. As Remus continued to sleep, Harry relived it. Now that the dangerous part was over and the adrenaline had stopped rushing through his body, he thought of different details. He'd been pressed right up against her back for hours. Her body had anchored his to the broom as he'd fought to keep Remus on a path that led away from civilization.

Harry pulled the blanket over his lap though he was the opposite of cold. It would be just his luck if Remus woke up now and noticed Harry's predicament. The thought of this sort of mortification made it go away, though, and he tried his best not to linger over the feel of Ginny's bum nestled against his thighs.

"Harry?" Remus croaked.

"Remus!" Harry said. His voice was nearly as hoarse as Remus's.

"Oh Merlin, what happened?" Remus sat up and clutched his head in his hands.

"Nothing happened," Harry rushed to tell him. "I got here right as you – erm – left the house." Even though she deserved the credit and recognition, an instinct told him that Ginny would not want him to tell Remus she'd been there. "I followed you around on broomstick. Kept blasting you whenever you made for a town."

Remus was aghast. "Harry! That was so dangerous. Why didn't you send for help?"

 _I_ was  _the help_ , Harry thought. Instead, he just shrugged. "I was on a Firebolt. I knew I could keep up with you."

"Your parents—"

"Would have done the same thing," Harry said firmly. "Hell, my dad became an animagus – an  _illegal_ animagus – just to help you with your – your problem."

"You don't need to take on this burden," Remus said. To Harry's horror, he thought he saw a sheen of tears in Remus's eyes. But it must have just been the light, for a moment later, the sheen was gone.

"It's not a burden," said Harry.

"I just don't understand," Remus said fiercely. "I never miss my dose of the Wolfsbane. Not since – you know. I took it yesterday same as usual. I wouldn't have just  _not taken it_."

Harry shifted uneasily and shoved the unnecessary blanket off of him. He stood up. "I wonder if your potion was tampered with. Or if whoever made it didn't do it correctly. If you took the potion and it didn't work…?"

Remus looked devastated. "I'll have to – I'll need to talk to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. After several more reassurances that Remus had not hurt anyone, Harry included, Harry left. Remus needed peace, quiet, and rest. As did Harry. He stretched and yawned, realizing that his back was one giant ache.

"Go home, Harry," Remus said with a sigh. "I'll be alright."

"I know," said Harry.  _Thanks to Ginny._ "We'll talk more soon… figure this stuff out with the potions…"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They were once more on Calista's street. Ginny marched ahead of him while Harry trailed behind. She'd been silent the entire morning. Harry didn't blame her. He was exhausted. He'd managed to smuggle out some of Hermione's Wide-Eye potion but even that did not work completely. His legs were sore, his arms were sore, his arse hurt, and the slash in his thigh still throbbed.

It bothered him that Ginny was so quiet, though it really shouldn't. There was no need for her to tell August Peverell anything about what she did on her off time. But Harry Potter wanted to discuss it with her. But she was quiet and tired and not interested in talking. Only in marching straight down the street where they were probably going to have another annoying encounter with Calista Dapifer's neighbors.

"Looks like she cleaned up her yard," Harry said. In fact, the yard looked quite pristine. Even someone like Petunia Dursley or Calista Dapifer would think it a find job. Ginny didn't say a word, just marched up to the front door.

It was ajar again. Harry had a sense of foreboding. It was odd; he could hardly see anything of the inside. But he somehow knew it was empty, that the odd woman from the day before had packed up her son and gone elsewhere. There was a cold, clean scent coming from the inside. Harry looked at Ginny, and gestured toward the door, asking her a silent question.

She shook her head. "We can't," she said with regret. "We can't just enter a residence… the Ministry would eventually cotton on to any illegalities. If we tripped some wards… they track that, you know."

"Damn," Harry muttered. Instead, he said: " _Homenum revelio."_ As he suspected, the house did not have anyone living in it. Harry walked around the corner and peered through the window of the sitting room. It was likewise empty. Harry doubted even a speck of dust would be found.

He rejoined Ginny, shaking his head. "No sign—"

Someone cleared their throat. A wizard dressed in light grey robes that had the logo of his grandfather's old potions company stood on the sidewalk. Harry felt a leap of interest.

"I have a delivery for a Miss Nymphadora Tonks?" It sounded like a question. "I tried earlier, but when I rang, no one answered."

"We tried as well," Ginny said smoothly. "We think we know where she went… I could take it to her for you if you want." The lie was smooth enough that Harry would have bought it, but the delivery wizard dropped back a step.

"No, no, we can't do that, it's against company policy," he said warily. He took out his wand, said " _Evanesco"_ and the box disappeared. "When she needs it again, I'm sure she'll be in touch."

Harry and Ginny watched him march back to the Apparition point.

"Nymphadora Tonks," said Ginny, once the delivery wizard was well out of ear-shot. "Not a familiar name."

Harry shook his head. "Not to me, either."

"At least we know what she looks like," said Ginny.

 _I think she's just tired,_ Harry thought when she swiped her eyes and hid a yawn.  _Merlin knows I'm knackered_. And he really was. He was so tired he stepped off the curb and into the street without looking. A Muggle teenager with bright pink hair and a heart-shaped face nearly collided into him. She wore skates, and made a rude gesture at him where he'd landed on his arse.

"Wotcher, you tosser!" she shouted. And then she was gone around the corner.

Ginny was chuckling. "Brace yourself," she warned, as Harry picked himself back up. "We're going to see Calista again."

Harry could not stifle a groan. "Why?" His tiredness came out like a whine. "Sorry," he winced.

"Trust me, I feel the same way," she said grimly. "But she might have more information for us."

In fact, she did not have any information for them at all.

It was Saturday, and what had to be Calista's poor husband opened the door, took one look at them, and said: "Calista!"

She came hurrying down the stairs wearing a wide grin. "If I don't miss my guess, you two are from  _The Turnip_!" she said happily. "Have you got a real assignment for me this time?" she turned to her husband. "You see, darling, I told you."

"So you did," the wizard said affably. "Again and again."

Harry bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

"We're actually here about your neighbor," Ginny said, looking from Calista to her husband and back again, her brow knit.

"My neighbor?" Calista asked, surprised.

"You know, the one you asked us to take a look at?" Ginny said. Harry heard faint concern in her tone.

"I didn't ask anyone to take a look at my neighbors for  _anything_ ," Calista said with great dignity. "We're a little community here; our own little magical community. We may not be glamorous, but we're  _us_. I've known most of these people for  _years_. You make it sound like you were implying that I would have any of these lovely, lovely people investigated."

Harry's mouth slowly fell open.

Ginny recovered much quicker than he would have. "It wasn't out of concern  _of_ them," she said. It was a lie, but it was a soothing one. Calista still looked troubled. "It was concern  _for_ them."

"Darling, come here," Calista commanded. Her husband went to her side and she clutched his hand. "I did not and would not invade a neighbor's privacy like that," she said firmly. "It is so odd that you think that I would. That would be Hogwarts behavior, and I've been out of Hogwarts for years and years. Don't you agree, Darling?"

"Completely, my love," said 'Darling'.

"We must have misunderstood," Ginny said pleasantly. "It's also possible our secretary mixed up some of our messages."

Harry opened his mouth to ask if Calista was  _sure_ she didn't remember anything about her neighbor, but Ginny elbowed him in the side.

"I'm sure that's what happened," Calista said with cold dignity. "Now, if you please, my darling is gone often during the week. We like to spend the whole weekend together without interruption. Come on, darling."

Harry and Ginny found their own way out. It was not until they'd walked down the street and were several houses away from Calista's that he burst into laughter. "You know, I'm a little irritated that her memory was altered, but I liked the behavioral modification that went with it."

Ginny made a sound that was the perfect combination of amusement and frustration. "I admit that it's kind of a nice change, but whoever did this is pretty sophisticated. This Nymphadora Tonks woman… what is her angle?" They tried to untangle it together, talking in quiet voices just to the side of the shielded Apparition point. They kept talking in circles and couldn't manage to get anywhere. Finally, Ginny heaved a tired sigh.

"We're not going back to the church?" Harry asked.

She shook her head. "No, I… no," she said. "I'm exhausted. I was up late last night and… I have a family thing tomorrow. I'm dreading it a little. So… I think I need to go home and get some rest."

Harry watched her Disapparate. One second she was there, the next she wasn't. With a small sigh, he did the same and Apparated straight into his room at Grimmauld Place.  _If Ron gives me more than a few seconds to talk to her without pulling me away, I'll try to figure it out_ , he thought. After that decision was made, he stumbled to his bed and fell into it.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry arrived at the Burrow before noon on Sunday. It was sprinkling lightly, as it always seemed to, and the stone walls were shiny with wetness.

A glance at his surroundings had him heading not for the crooked little house but for the orchard near their makeshift Quidditch pitch. Her long red hair was down and tumbling down her back like a signal flag Harry could not help but see and be drawn toward.  _Ron's going to try to keep me distracted enough not to be accidentally rude,_ Harry told himself,  _I might as well sneak in a bit of conversation before that happens._

"Hey, Ginny," he said once he drew closer.

"Hey, Harry," she said.

He'd been wrong. Her hair wasn't totally down. A bit by her temple had been drawn up in a pin that was attached to very real-looking, fluttering butterfly wings.

His gaze drifted down to her face and was surprised and unhappy to see she was frowning. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"What makes you think there's something wrong?" she asked, annoyed.

"You're frowning and annoyed," said Harry.

She blew out a breath and folded her arms across her chest. Her shirt bunched up in ways Harry could not help but notice.

"I'm just wondering what I'm going to do when you tell my parents and brothers about what happened the other night," she said.

Harry blinked. As he did, she turned to look up at him. Her gaze was as direct as it always was. "I'm not going to tell them," he said.

It was her turn to blink. It almost made him smile, that he had surprised her. Now that he knew she'd thought he was going to tell them, her tension yesterday made more sense.

"Were you worried about that?" Harry asked.

She nodded. Her shoulders slumped and her hands fell to her sides. "They worry so much," she said after a long pause. "It's... stifling. I think if they knew what happened with Remus — even though everything turned out fine — they'd go crazy. Mum would, at least." She plucked a red and gold leaf off a tree and shredded it in her hands. "It's just so much easier to just... not mention things like that."

"I get that," Harry told her. When she made a little scoffing sound, he repeated it: "I get that. I do. Sometimes it's better... if people just don't know some things." A moment after he said it, he regretted it.  _For Merlin's sake, you might as well have invited her to open up a conversation about Voldemort's defeat._

To his surprise, she did nothing of the sort. Still, there was an unease between them Harry suspected was his own fault. Her face was shuttered and she continued to shred leaves in her hands. Harry watched her, curious. At the Burrow, Ginny was more of a quiet presence. As the Seeker, Harry was coming to see her as formidable. But there was a vulnerability to her here and now that Harry wanted to figure out.

He was rewarded for his patience.

"When we were all at Grimmauld Place… when I was having, you know, the nightmares," Ginny said. She'd drifted further into the trees and Harry followed her, careful not to make any more noise than he could help. He didn't want to jolt her out of talking by reminding her he was here. "Those nightmares… Mum and Dad were worried. Everyone was worried."

Everyone  _had_ been worried, there was no denying that.

"I was heading up to my room when I heard Mum sobbing in the – I think it was the sitting room. I looked in, and – there I was," she said. "It was a boggart and it was showing her… I was down on the floor, I'd been cut open – the way Umbridge did. Dad was in there too. It was a boggart, and usually Mum and Dad can just deal with a boggart with just a flick of the wrist. But they were just staring at it – at me. And  _Merlin_ , the looks on their faces. I'll never forget it."

Harry felt a dull thud of pain somewhere in his midsection. He remembered vividly the scene she was describing, except it was no boggart that had made him see it. Once he'd destroyed the diary in the Chamber of Secrets, led Ginny back to where Umbridge had tied up Ron. Harry'd been exultant, certain that Umbridge would have to capitulate. Instead, she'd almost immediately slashed her wand, and blood had fountained out of Ginny. She'd been cut apart… it was only Fawkes who had been able to save Ginny. He saw it again so vividly; the memory had adrenaline rushing through him.

"I don't want them to ever be scared like that again," Ginny said in a voice so low he almost missed it. "Not because of me."

There was nothing Harry could say to that, really.

He put his hand on her shoulder. It was a tentative touch just in case it was unwelcome. He thought she might pull away. Instead, she half-turned and leaned into him. They hugged for the space of five heartbeats. Her hair was very soft, Harry could not help but notice. It was fine and silky under his fingertips. Her head was nestled against his chest, and he could feel her breathe three times.

Then she pulled away. "Thanks, Harry," she said. Then her nose crinkled. "Oh, look, now you've got leaves all over you."

Harry didn't mind. In fact, he was rather pleased with himself. "I don't mind," he told her. She looked happier than she had when he'd walked out there, and that was what mattered.  _And Ron thinks I just stomp all over her whenever I say more than ten words to her,_ he thought, feeling smug.

They walked together back to the Burrow. The little butterfly pin in her hair had had its wings smashed while they'd hugged. It looked more like a faintly twitching accordion. "I mean it, Ginny," said Harry. "I'm not going to tell anyone what happened."  _I'm not going to tell anyone what I know about you, Seeker,_ he added silently.

"Thank you," she told him. And then she smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry had nearly, blissfully, forgotten the very existence of  _The Daily Prophet_  when he arrived at the church one day and found a picture of himself squinting up at him. It was an old photograph. Harry sat in a bath chair, gaping, in the wide foyer of St. Mungo's and was only wearing a dressing gown. He remembered that moment so vividly. It'd been the middle of the night, and everyone had thought it safe to move him.  _None of the press will be out at this hour_ , Arthur'd told him. He was one of the few who knew exactly  _why_ Harry had to be moved from St. Mungo's.

They'd been wrong.

Harry still remembered the flashes of light and loud voices. Even though he ought to have expected it – it was nearly Halloween, after all, the press liked to drag up everything around this time of year, as though the anniversary of his parents being murdered was not painful enough. He stood there for a moment, looking at himself,  _feeling_ everything he'd felt that day: pain, disgust, bewilderment, anger. All of that had led to the press capturing a photograph that made him look like a complete moron.

"Oh, hello, August!" said Luna.

Harry tore his attention away from the paper. She sat cross-legged on a little table and had butterflies fluttering around her. This was not unusual behavior for her, Harry had come to discover. Whatever eccentricities she'd had during their school years had only increased by an order of magnitude.

"Hi, Luna," he said.

"Oh, hey, August," Neville called from across the room.

"Who left this shite out?" Harry asked, pointing. "I thought we ignored the  _Prophet_."

"We just have to see what the competition is up to," said Neville. "Actually, I was curious to see what the Ministry was allowing them to say about the vampire situation in Russia." Neville covered all the international news, and was always enthusiastic about telling Harry all about it. "It's interesting the way they glossed over it in favor of writing another bull shit article about Harry Potter."

Harry warmed at that. "He looks pretty gormless, it's got to be more entertaining than vampires."

"Maybe, but they reprint the same shit every year," Neville said.

"Every year," Luna echoed. " _Harry Potter is a hidden menace to society_ ," she added loftily. Harry would like to pretend she exaggerated, but it was a direct quote from last year's Halloween article.

"Yeah, they drum up all that suspicion because that way everyone is too busy to remark on what the government is doing." Neville said this with the deepest disgust. Harry was struck once more at how  _different_ from Harry's memories of him Neville was. Granted, he hadn't seen Neville for ten years, but still.

He wanted to point out to them that not even a month ago, they'd pointed out how little he'd done since Voldemort was defeated.  _What's he done since then_ , echoed in his brain. This hadn't been their fault. The extent of the damage Voldemort's final curse had done to him was hardly common knowledge. Harry wanted everything about that day locked away and hidden where  _The Daily Prophet_ couldn't find and exploit it. If it meant preserving his secrets, Harry was  _fine_ with Ginny, Neville, and Luna scoffing about him. He was absolultely fine with it.

Just then, Ginny emerged from her office. "You're later than usual," she said.

"Oh, I – sorry, but—"

"You're not  _late_ late," Ginny told him. "We just have another lead on a couple of Dark Marks."

The article was forgotten in an instant.

She grabbed a long, bottle-green traveling cloak from a peg and swirled it around her shoulders. "Are you ready?" she asked. Her hair was in a braid and hung over her shoulder, reminding Harry how well red and green went together as a general rule.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."

Ginny hardly acknowledged  _The Daily Prophet_ , except to give it a scathing look. At least, Harry hoped the scathing look was reserved for the propagandized newspaper and not for himself.  _It might be_ , an anxious voice pointed out. By the time Harry had forced himself to set the issue aside, they were out the door and down the stairs.

"We'll need the Blind Bowlers for this one," Ginny told him, handing him his. "Ready?" she asked again.

"Ready," Harry confirmed.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next two weeks were grueling.

Ginny set a pace that had Harry falling into bed every night, utterly exhausted. If they weren't searching for Dark Marks all over Britain, they were visiting the magical commune outside of Manchester. If they weren't visiting the magical commune, there were reports of magical creatures running amok that Ginny wanted to look into. If they weren't doing that, they were lurking outside apothecaries and interviewing people. They had three different stories they were working on, and somehow – in the middle of all of that – they managed to publish their first joint article.

"Oh, look, they named him Chaser," said Hermione. The latest issue of  _The Turnip_ just so happened to be published the day of another family dinner at the Burrow. If he hadn't been there for the process of it, Harry wondered if Ginny'd scheduled it on purpose. But the church had turned into a hive of almost appalling activity during the time it took to put the full paper together, and Harry knew that it was going to be published whenever it was ready, and not on some sort of timetable of Ginny's. Instead, it was a happy accident.

"Who did what?"

Ginny strolled into the room.

"Ah, Seeker has a partner.  _Chaser_ , they're calling him," said Arthur.

"All they need is a Beater and a Keeper," said Bill.

"Ron can be Beater since he—"

Ron threw a roll at Fred; it bounced off his head and onto the floor.

Ginny sneezed.

"Oh, dear, Ginny, are you all right?" Molly half stood up from the table.

"I'm fine, Mum," Ginny said, annoyed. "Just need to find a tissue…"

"They never replaced them after Ron used them all up his teen years," said George.

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Maybe you're allergic to kneazles, dear," said Molly. "Perhaps you should get tested…?"

"I'm  _fine_ , Mum," she said with a bit more of an edge. But then she sneezed again, and Molly whisked her out of the room. When she finally came back, Ginny wasn't with her.

"Ginny had to leave," she announced. "One of the kneazles is pregnant… Ginny has to be there for the delivery." This made Molly look very irritated. "She'd not looking after her health properly. She'll be getting sick, just you wait."

Harry suspected something else was going on, and was not surprised when the charmed coin in his pocket heated up.

The twins tried to waylay him on his way out the door.

"I've really got to go," said Harry, distracted. Ginny'd left five minutes ago. What was going on?

"We have your antidote," said Fred.

"Could — could you send it with an owl?" Harry asked.

"Well — yeah," said George.

"Everything all right?" asked Fred.

"It's fine... it's just Dumbledore," Harry lied. They let him pass.

It turned out it wasn't anything pressing, just three more sightings of Dark Marks. One was at the tip of Cornwall, another on a tiny island off the coast of Wales, and still another located on the remnants of an historical wall that divided England and Scotland.

Ginny sneezed three times. "My brother always said they made this wall to keep the dragons from fighting each other. It's magical, of course. The Muggles think they built it, of course."

Harry held a shield over her like an umbrella as she took pictures of the Dark Mark. It was her latest idea, and they were now planning to spend the next few nights going around to every known location of a carven Dark Mark. "We'll put it on the map," Ginny'd said. Her determination and fervor made it seem less like a chore and more like something absolutely necessary. After visiting the remnants of the magical wall, they Apparated to no less than four other locations. Harry was exhausted by the time they were done.

When he woke up the next morning, he found one of Fred and George's strange delivery birds. This one was a stork with bright purple wings and a blue beak. He wondered if the twins saw the irony in what this particular stork was delivering... but they wouldn't know the Muggle story, and it wasn't funny, anyway. Arnold, his own owl, was very territorial and grabbed the bottle of antidote from where it was tied around the stork's neck.

"Go on," Harry muttered, shooing it back out the window. "Go back to the joke shop. Go on with you, then."

Arnold was in high dudgeon, guarding the bottle like he was a mother with her eggs. Harry shook his head and headed off to the shower. There was a long day ahead and Harry didn't have time to engage in a dispute with his owl. He smiled just to think about it.

Over the next few days, Harry could not help but notice that Ginny was sneezing more, and looking more and more exhausted. This did not mean she slowed their pace. Far from it. Harry thought he'd traveled more over the space of two weeks than he had his entire life, even the year and a half he'd spent in hiding, Apparating from one safe spot to another.

He understood exactly why.

"We've got to have something solid before we can publish a warning about the potions," Ginny told him at least eleven times. "We can do all the interviews we want, but Merlin. The potioneers would come down on us so hard if we questioned the integrity of their product without having absolute proof that. You know. Proof that…"

"Proof that something is happening, and it's not just hearsay?" Harry prodded gently. She was slumped up against a brick wall in Dover. Their magical community was housed in an old building that looked on the verge of collapse, but was actually full of witches and wizards. For the last two hours, Ginny'd been pursuing their story, interviewing people, even examining the potions bottles in the rubbish bin. Now she looked on the verge of the kind of bone tiredness Harry associated with being on the run.  _Well, we're working on two different big things_ , he told himself.  _No wonder she's knackered._

"Yes, exactly that," Ginny murmured. "I'm ready to call it a night. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Harry nodded.

The next day, he found Neville in the main part of the church, working on the map in the center of the room. He stopped short. Neville covered the international side. This was Britain. He felt a surge of possessiveness on Ginny's behalf; this was  _her_ work. What was Neville doing?

"Ginny asked me to add in all the locations of the Dark Marks you two have found the last week," Neville said. He didn't even turn around when offering that explanation. Harry's shoulders relaxed. As long as Neville had the okay from  _Ginny_ , that was fine.

"Where is she?" Harry asked. Usually, Ginny was around whenever he was. In fact, he'd wondered more than once if she actually lived her, and her little flat somewhere in London was just a pretense she kept up for her family's sake.

"She's in her office, don't think she's feeling quite the thing," said Neville.

Despite the warning, Harry was astonished to find Ginny asleep in her office. Her hair was all spread out on her desk. Somehow, a bottle of ink had toppled over, staining some of the bright red black. She snored lightly. His first instinct was to back out and leave her alone. She was exhausted, by the state of her. But then his better sense prodded him. Wouldn't it be rude of him to leave her like that? Maybe she was worn down enough to fall asleep like that, but she wouldn't stay asleep. She'd wake up with a knot of pain in her back, and her cheek throbbing from the constant contact with the hard surface of the desk.

Harry walked over to the desk and laid a gentle hand on her back. Then he drew his wand, and murmured the incantation that would turn the chair she was using into a bed. A cushion from the other chair became a pillow. He conjured two sheets and a thick blanket. By the time he was done, he'd made quite a serviceable bed for her.  _At least she'll be comfortable_ , Harry thought, with no small amount of pride. Then he very, very carefully eased her down onto the bed.

"Harry," she whispered.

Harry froze. But Ginny was still asleep, still snoring, and had not somehow figured out his secret. He sat back on his heels, wondering if she was dreaming of him. She rolled over onto her other side, and a tendril of hair curled over her mouth in a way that looked quite uncomfortable. In fact, Harry had dreamed of her more than once since he'd started working with her; it seemed impossible that her dreams aligned with his increasingly interesting ones. Carefully, he eased the tendril out from under her chin, and brushed it back away from her face. It would be very strange if Ginny's dreaming self spent any amount of time wondering what color bra Harry was wearing.

By the time Harry stood and made his way as silently as he could out the door, he'd convinced himself that she hadn't said Harry at all, and that he was in obvious need of some rest himself.

"Ginny's asleep," said Harry after he'd shut the door behind him.

"Are you headed home?" Neville asked. He was still standing in front of the map.

"Oh… no," said Harry. "Ginny mentioned yesterday she wanted to go check on the hag. I figured I'd at least do that before I go home."

"Good luck, August," Neville said. "Don't do anything Ginny wouldn't do."

"I won't," he promised.

In fact, he didn't. He returned three hours later with a torn cloak (from Muffins), and a silvery knife the hag had thrown straight at his head. "I don't know what I did wrong," he told Luna, who was the only one awake and at the church. "I thought I said all the same things Ginny did, but the commune just told me Muffins could stay with the hag for a bit, they'd work things out themselves." He rubbed at his eyes. "But look, I kept this shiny knife as a souvenir."

HPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

It was early the next morning that Harry was summoned to Hogwarts to meet with Dumbledore. Fawkes had arrived and shaken him out of a dead sleep. Harry'd been dreaming of something particularly pleasant, if he could judge by the state of his body, but whatever dream he was having wafted away the moment he opened his eyes.

Fawkes dropped a scroll on his chest.

Arnold was squawking in his cage. Harry heard a dull thunk. It sounded as though his owl were tossing around the potion bottle he kept forgetting about.  _I really ought to take that away from him_ , he thought.

"Calm down, Arnold," Harry muttered. He grabbed his glasses off his nightstand and shoved them on his face.

He read the scroll. Dumbledore wanted a conversation with him "just to go over the last few weeks". Harry sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Dumbledore; in fact, he wanted his advice on a couple of issues. But they'd been so busy lately Apparating all over Britain, Harry wanted to use his day off wisely, like not getting out of bed at all and having Kreacher bring him meals. Harry sighed, listening to Arnold play with the potion bottle.  _Thunk-thunk-thunk_.

Less than an hour later, he was walking with Dumbledore along the far side of Hogwarts. The fog was magically thick, thanks to Dumbledore's power. Now that it was late October and nearly Halloween there was an eerier feel to the fog.

"I don't know what to tell you about the potions, Harry," Dumbledore was saying. "Especially the Wolfsbane Potion. So many people depend on that to keep themselves from savaging their neighbors. If you do not mind, I think I will begin my own inquiries."

"And you'll make sure Remus has somewhere safe to go next time? Just in case?" Harry asked, anxious. They'd covered this topic before in a flurry of magically-protected letters, and one late night conversation in the fire, when Harry's been certain Ron and Hermione were asleep.

"I was wondering if the Room of Requirement would be an appropriate place to contain him," Dumbledore said. "Anything else of interest?"

"Not really," Harry shook his head. "We're still tracking and marking down all the Dark Marks that have been popping up all over the place. And – and the Seeker has been working on something else. We got an odd report from one of our associates." Harry told him about the case. "And all we got was a name – Nymphadora Tonks – and we know what she looks like, but—"

To his astonishment, Dumbledore laughed. "Pardon me, Harry, but if you did indeed meet Nymphadora Tonks, I doubt you know what she really looks like."

"What?" Harry asked, astonished.

"Tonks," Dumbledore said with a great deal of fondness, "is a Metamorphmagus. She can change her appearance at will. With a bit of concentration, Tonks could look like anyone in the world." He laughed again and his eyes were twinkling. "The pranks she would play at school, Harry, you have no idea."

"But she—"

"Left the Ministry several years ago, after Voldemort was resurrected," said Dumbledore. "She was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You never formally met her, but she guarded you often in one of her many disguises."

Harry let that sink in. Of course, he knew that the Order was comprised of far more people than he knew. Only Dumbledore knew everyone who had been in it. Considering the fact that people had been tortured and killed for that kind of information, it made sense. But it  _didn't_ make sense—

"I suspect she thought you were Ministry of some sort," said Dumbledore, cutting into his thoughts.

"But she was so unpleasant," Harry said feebly.

"She was quite pleasant when I knew her, but I suppose she could have changed," Dumbledore said. It was out of politeness only. Harry knew from his tone that Dumbledore did not think it likely.

"But have you seen her lately?" Harry persisted.

"Not since she left the Order," Dumbledore admitted.

"She  _left_ —"

"Not because she experienced a change in heart in regard to her desire to fight against Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "There was a – situation that she ultimately found she could not live with. No, do not ask me. This is not something crucial to anyone but Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin."

Harry's brows slammed together. " _Remus_? But—"

"You will have to ask him. If he tells you, he has more courage than I thought," said Dumbledore. There was something harsh in that message, and Harry took a step back from questioning him further. "Everyone reacts differently to any kind of stress and pain, Harry. I cannot guess as to what Tonks's life has been like since I last saw her, but I do know that whatever it is you think she is up to, there is goodness at the heart of it."

Harry turned from Dumbledore and looked out over the lake. The waters were churning. Frothy little waves splashed against the shore. Every few seconds, a tentacle emerged and slapped down again. Harry could not tell if the giant squid was angry, bored, or playful, but the effect was the same. He set aside his questions about Nymphadora Tonks. The only person who had answers was Remus Lupin, and it would be suspicious of him to ask Lupin about a long ago girlfriend. There was the urge to tell Ginny what he'd learned, but how would he explain how he'd found out? He didn't trust himself as August to mention Dumbledore, not after the discussion at the church regarding the latest article assaulting Harry Potter's character. True, Dumbledore had recommended him for the job at The Turnip, but it felt too — too precarious to casually drop information like that.

Harry did not want to talk himself into a corner.

Dumbledore stood quietly beside him.

 _Everyone recovers differently_ , Dumbledore had said. The words resonated, even though they'd been about Tonks. But Harry had known Dumbledore long enough that he knew his words often had double — sometimes triple — the context than the average conversation.

He turned and let his gaze move from the increasingly wild waters of the Black Lake to the other grounds. The fog spell behind them was clearing. There was a lone figure walking down the hill toward the forest. Even with the mist, he would recognize that hair anywhere.

"Pardon me," Harry said abruptly.

"Of course," said Dumbledore.

But Harry was already striding away from him. She was nearly to the tree line, and was skirting around Hagrid's statue by the time Harry was close enough to shout: "Ginny!"

When she turned and looked at him, a stab of concern went through him. Her face was drawn and pale. She opened her mouth to say something, but she coughed instead. Her hands were full, so she coughed into the crook of her arm. It was a deep, raspy cough.

"Hi, Harry," she finally managed.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked. She'd been sneezing the last time he saw her; whatever she had had worsened.

"Have a bit of a cold," she said.

Harry was close enough now to see that she carried a cauldron full of meat. His nostrils flared. It smelled… off.

"Want some help?" he asked.

"I think I'm fine, but I'd not say no to company," said Ginny.

They followed a well-worn path into the forest. Harry did his best to ignore the smell, but it was soon too powerful for him not to mention. "Are you feeding something in here?" There were a thousand different kinds of species that made their home here. Perhaps Ginny'd come across one of them.

She nodded, then coughed again when she tried to speak. "I – yeah," she managed.

"I guess I shouldn't ask you questions," said Harry, rueful.

She answered him with another cough.

Harry let his eyes wander over her as they continued on deeper into the forest. The last month had taught him that Ginny had a great deal of stamina. Whatever kind of cold she had sapped that out of her. Her face was pale; it looked almost unnatural beside the vibrant red of her hair. When she led them off the path and over a giant root, beads of sweat appeared on her smooth brow.

"Do you want me to carry that for you?" Harry asked as they skirted around a little pond.

"You don't have to," she said. "It's easier for me. I can't smell anything."

"Smells good to me," he lied cheerfully, taking the cauldron from her unresisting fingers. "Maybe I'm part ogre."

He winced when her laugh dissolved into another wracking cough.

It was another ten minutes before she put his hand on his arm, stopping him. "We have to be quiet, now. She's very sensitive."

Then she led the way into a quiet clearing. At first, Harry couldn't see anything in the gloom. Ginny took the cauldron out of his hands and moved gracefully to the side, managing to avoid all the roots and stones in her path. He tried to be as stealthy as her, but sticks broke under his feet.

Then Harry saw it. The tiniest thestral he'd ever seen stood quavering underneath a low branch. Its silvery eyes shone. It looked like a newborn, all shaking legs and trembling wings. Ginny was crooning to it.  _To her_ , Harry reminded himself.  _Ginny said 'she'._ An instinct made him hang back, and not go too close. Curiosity made him want to light the tip of his wand.

Ginny was kneeling on the ground beside the baby thestral. One hand was gently stroking the leathery, batlike wings. The other was grabbing a fistful of meat. "That's it," she said. "I have your favorite food for you… I know you like it…"

The baby thestral was nuzzling Ginny's hand. She was timid, but Harry could see a long, black tongue swishing over the meat. It took her a long time to finish even one handful of the meat. Ginny never stopped stroking her, murmuring gentle words to her, even though the talking made her cough. Harry watched until the last bit of meat was gone.

"You're a very good girl," said Ginny. "I'll be back next week with more."

It was slower going back.

"You can – go on ahead," Ginny said through a coughing spasm. She sat on a boulder.

Harry shook his head. "Not a chance." Instead, he sat on a separate boulder. His mind was still on the baby thestral. He had what felt like a hundred questions for her, but didn't want to make her cough. They sounded so painful. It was obvious that Ginny should be home in bed. Or possibly even at the Burrow. Yet she'd come all the way down to the forest to feed her.

Another cough snapped him out of his thoughts. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, cast the familiar charm, and the light of his Patronus banished the ever-present gloom. "Go to Dumbledore," he said firmly. "Say: Please fetch a Pepper Up potion and place it somewhere it'll be convenient to summon it." He did not want to break the glass windows of Hogwarts. The stag bent his head regally, gave a great leap, and disappeared.

He gave Ginny a rueful look. "Sorry about that," he said.

"Giving orders to Dumbledore?"

"He won't mind," said Harry. The words had hardly come out of his mouth, when Dumbledore's silvery phoenix appeared. "Fetching it now. I will send it with Fawkes."

It was no more than two minutes later that Fawkes appeared in blaze. There was a bottle with fiery red liquid in it. Harry plucked it from the phoenix's talons and handed it over to Ginny. As she drank, steam came out of her ears, her pallor vanished, and the tightness in her face eased. It was beautiful to watch, and Harry's worry drifted away.

"Thank you, Fawkes, you beautiful boy," Ginny said. The phoenix came to land next to her, and rubbed her shoulder with his beak. Ginny stroked the red and orange feathers on his chest. She paid him more compliments; Fawkes preened and spread his tail feathers wide. Harry could not help but grin at the sight.

"He likes you," Harry observed.

"And I love him," said Ginny. "You saved my life, didn't you, Fawkes? Yes, you did."

Fawkes nuzzled her again, as though telling her it'd been worth it.

When the phoenix finally left, Ginny leapt to her feet. "Oh, I feel so much better," she said, sounding absolutely delighted. Steam was still coming off her body, wreathing her in it. It gave her a sort of mystical look.

"Now that you're feeling better, can you tell me about the thestral?" Harry asked.

"Curious, are you?" Ginny eyed him.

"Perishing," Harry admitted.

"You remember that thestrals have a kind of unusual life cycle?" Ginny asked. Really, her voice was so much  _stronger_ now.

"Yes," Harry said. And he did vaguely remember Hagrid explaining that during one of their lessons during Harry's fifth year. But he'd been trying to avoid Umbridge and find the Heir of Slytherin… his fifth year had been rather busy.

"The day that baby thestral was born, she watched her mother be slaughtered in front of her eyes," said Ginny. "Luna has a lot of theories as to thestrals… you'll have to ask her about them sometime. But what we do know is this: thestrals – unless murdered – go back to the earth when they die. They ease into dust at the end of their life. It's natural and Hagrid said it was painless. But they  _can_ be murdered. Oh – watch that branch, Harry."

Harry was so intent on her words that he nearly walked into a branch.

"Hagrid told me before he – he passed that this baby thestral—"

"Wait," said Harry abruptly. "It's been over two years since Hagrid died. That thestral can't be more than—"

"She was born about three years ago, but they guide their own development," said Ginny. "Hagrid said she was traumatized so badly by watching her mother slaughtered – and deep down, her nature told her it was  _wrong_ , her mother shouldn't have died like that – that she locked herself in place. She's been a newborn baby for  _years_."

Harry stopped and looked at her. "So she's locked in place like that? Is she facing where her mother died?"

Ginny nodded. "Terribly sad, isn't it?"

That was an understatement. Harry looked over his shoulder, back toward the clearing he could no longer see. The baby thestral was unable to look away from where she'd watched her own mother die in front of her eyes. It wasn't until Ginny gripped his wrist that he turned away.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking down at where she was touching him. "It's just…"

She dropped his wrist. "I know," she said.

They were silent the rest of the way out of the forest. Harry couldn't get the image of the baby cowering under a branch, so unable to comprehend that she'd lost her mother that she hadn't allowed herself to move… to join the other thestrals of the herd… to grow up. It wasn't until they were out of the forest, halfway up the hill, and meeting Horace Slughorn on his way down that Harry was jolted out of his thoughts.

"Harry, m'dear boy! Ginny, m'dear girl!" Horace called out. He was positively beaming.

"Hi, Horace," Harry said.

"Hi, Professor Slughorn," Ginny said.

"Two of my favorites in the same place!" The smile had not faded. In fact, it spread wider. "You'll be the first to hear of my most interesting news. We're having a little Slug Club party—"

"I so enjoyed the last one," Ginny said, smiling. "I'm always amazed at how many show up for it."

"It's true that generally people accept my invitations," said Horace. He gave Harry a playful look and wagged his finger at him. "All except Harry, here."

"I don't really go much of anywhere," Harry said. Two months ago, this would have been perfectly true. Now, he was pulled hither and yon by the witch beside him.

"That's what I hear, m'boy," Horace said pleasantly. There was a crafty gleam in his eyes. "But you'll want to come to a little soiree I'm having in December. If I remember right, you were the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" Harry nodded; he felt this was an unnecessary questioned designed to get him to engage. "Well," Horace continued, "the Holyhead Harpies – top of the league! – are going to play a little game against Puddlemere United… it'll be all part of the festivities.  _And_ they're all going to use whatever the school has for the game. No fancy broomsticks."

"The managers must be thrilled," Ginny said in a dry voice.

"They'll get over it," Horace said with an unrepentant grin.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries… well, mostly Harry watched Ginny and Horace exchange pleasantries… and then they were walking again, having said goodbye.

"Do you think you'll go?" Ginny asked.

Harry shook his head. "It sounds like fun, though."

"You really do need to get out more," she said, exasperated.

"Where should we go?" Harry teased. "Not Slug Club, obviously."

"Well, we're on our way to Hogsmeade, we could get a drink," she said magnanimously.

Harry felt the sudden cheer slide off him like water. For a second, he stared at her. He watched her face tighten.

"I was just kidding," she said stiffly.

Harry hadn't, and thought perhaps the conversation might have gone differently had it been anywhere but Hogsmeade. He kicked himself all the way down the hill.  _This was your chance to get to know more of her secrets!_ He castigated himself.  _No thestrals, no forest, no Slughorn, no August Peverell, no Ron. Damn it_. He wanted to redo that moment; instead of freezing like a berk, he'd… be better.

They were only halfway there when he heard her sniffle.

He'd barely turned to ask if she was all right when a sneeze erupted out of her.

"Damn," she said. "I suppose that Pepper Up potion isn't very long-lasting."

Harry glanced away, squinting, just so that he would not look at her and give away the fact that he was thinking about all the ways in which the potions were failing. "Well, we're almost to Hogsmeade, maybe we can—"

"You don't need to worry—"

"—I just think we should get—"

"— _certainly_ not going to—"

"—stop at the apothecary before we head to Grimmauld Place," finished Harry.

Ginny's mouth fell open. "What? I'm not going to Grimmauld Place."

Harry stopped then, eyeing her. "You're pretty sick," he said carefully. "You really want to be alone while you're sick like that? At least at my place, you'd have two wizards, a witch, and a house elf to be at your beck and call." It was her decision.  _I ought to have made it an offer_ , Harry mused. He knew her well enough by now to recognize the signs of stubbornness. Reaching out, he brushed her hair off her shoulder. Her nose was running again and he was pretty sure the cough was about to start back up. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I assumed you wouldn't want to be alone and sick because  _I_  hate being alone and sick."

She was laughing and wheezing at the same time. "Harry, stop. You drive a hard bargain, but honestly, you had me at the fact I'd have you and the others at my beck and call."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The second they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Hermione took one look at Ginny and took charge. Harry had had this happen before, was used to it, and generally liked that she took on tasks for him. Perhaps it was living with her for so long, and the fact he  _knew_ everyone ran enough interference between him and Ginny that Madam Hooch would call foul, but Harry was annoyed.

"I have—"

"Don't you worry, Harry," Hermione said, patting him on the arm. "I just went to the apothecary today… we'll find something that'll help her. It was very  _nice_ of you to bring her here."

"Yes, thanks, Harry," said Ginny. There was nothing at all except innocence on her face, but Harry thought he detected a hint of sarcasm.

"Where's Ron?" he asked, grumpy.

"He got called in to work," Hermione said. She twirled her wand and less than a minute later an entire  _cabinet_ appeared at the doorway.

"Poor Ron," said Ginny. "Has to miss me being sick."

Harry, having nothing better to do, brought her a glass of water.

"Don't drink that just yet, Ginny," Hermione told her. "You'll want to wait half an hour after the potion you just took." Shockingly, Hermione had an entire arsenal of all sorts of potions. Harry sat back in his chair feeling itchy. She'd brought out her entire potions cabinet.

And one by one, all of them failed.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Hermione gave up. "I just don't know what's going on," she said. Her hair was bunched out all around her face.

Ginny coughed into a pillow. "Honestly, you two, I just want to go to bed. Can't I just go to bed?"

"I have an idea," Harry said. "I'll just go 'round to – erm – you know. Places. Maybe you stored the potions wrong," he told Hermione. He could not help but feel slightly smug at the aghast look on her face. "In fact, I bet that's what it is."

"I would  _never_ store potions incorrectly," Hermione said.

Ginny hid a laugh behind a cough.

"Come now, Hermione," Harry said in his best you-can't-prove-I'm-being-condescending tone. "Why else wouldn't your potions be working?"

At last, Harry had the pretext he needed to once more go to his grandparents' former potions company. He took care with how he dressed, choosing an overcoat over his robes that once belonged to Sirius that Molly had modified to fit. It was burgundy and black. His attention was caught on his reflection in the mirror. Harry could not remember the last time he had put much effort into his appearance. Possibly not since his one and only disastrous date with Cho Chang late sixth year.

His lips twisted at the memory.

_He was happy he'd been let out of the castle at all, and even happier that he was walking down the path to Hogsmeade with Cho Chang. They walked arm and arm and Cho kept up a conversation with ease. It wasn't until they got to Hogsmeade that Harry began to rumble why she'd asked him to go with her. It wasn't because she'd harbored feelings for him that she'd put on hold during her long relationship with Cedric Diggory and wanted to make a go of it before their paths parted ways when she graduated._

_A chance glance inside Madame Puddifoot's had Harry's eyebrows raising. Diggory was in there, despite having already left Hogwarts, and was holding hands with Katie Bell. He moved to stand in front of the window so Cho couldn't see, but there was a flicker in her dark eyes that told Harry he might not have been fast enough._

" _Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," Harry said, injecting cheer into his tone. "Puddifoot's looks crowded."_

_Cho dropped her hand and laced her fingers with his. When she laid her head on his shoulder as they walked, Harry's stomach leapt. All thoughts of Cedric Diggory fled; all he could think was that, by some happenstance, the girl he'd fancied for quite some time had finally started to fancy him back._

_He was embarrassingly old for a first kiss, but she gave it to him anyway. Right in the middle of the street. Her lips were cool and moist but the kiss itself was not exactly how Harry'd imagined it. Her hands tangled in his hair but their lips hardly touched. She seemed content to just stand there in his arms._

_Harry finally dropped them._

" _That was lovely, Harry," she told him._

_Harry nodded._

_It was warm and cheerful in Three Broomsticks. Harry forgot some of his unease but enough of it lingered that he could not quite bring himself to enjoy the next hour. He drank his butterbeer. He caught a glimpse of Katie Bell walking down the street with Cedric. They were holding hands and grinning at each other. Without giving him any sort of warning, Cho practically leapt across the table, grabbed his face in her hands, and mashed her lips against his._

_Harry recoiled but she was determined. He gave in; hadn't he wanted to kiss her since his fourth year? But it didn't feel like his adolescent dreams coming true. It felt more like a punishment. He was relieved when it was over, and even more relieved when she excused herself to visit the loo. Harry sipped at his butterbeer and wished he'd stayed behind with Ron and Hermione. They were keeping Ginny company since she was a second year and couldn't visit Hogsmeade. Whatever the three of them were up to, it had to be better than this._

_When he saw Cho visiting with her friend Marietta just outside the door, some instinct made him use the spell he'd learned from the Half-Blood Prince that would allow him to eavesdrop on their conversation. Something was wrong, here; he wanted to find out what it was._

"— _see you?" Marietta asked._

" _Both times, I'm sure," said Cho._

" _Were they at least_ good  _kisses?"_

" _They weren't terrible, but I can tell he's never been kissed."_

" _It's because he's fancied you for so long!"_

" _It's why I picked him._ Merlin _, I can't believe he's dating Katie Bell. Katie Bell! We used to get into terrible rows about how she was always looking at him. It was the one thing we'd row about. And look at him! Snogging her."_

" _He'll be jealous of Harry," Marietta pointed out._

 _Harry's ears were burning and there was a sourness in his stomach as though his butterbeer had been rancid._ She was just using me?  _he thought, incredulous._

" _Everyone's jealous of Harry," said Cho._

_Later, Harry could not quite believe how cool he'd played it. When Cho returned to the table, he'd already closed out their tab with Rosmerta. He made some sort of excuse – something about Sirius Black – about how he ought not to have come out to Hogsmeade in the first place. "No, no," said Harry, when she offered to come back with him. "No, you stay."_

_During the long walk that followed, Harry realized that because he'd been famous since before he could even walk and talk, he was always going to have to deal with this kind of thing. It hurt, coming from Cho, whom he'd fancied for an embarrassingly long time. "How was your date, mate?" Ron asked once he finally made it back to the common room. Ron had not looked up from the game of wizard's chess he was playing with his sister, but Harry could feel both Hermione's and Ginny's eyes on him._

" _It was fun," Harry said, forcing cheer. "Came back early because – erm – everyone kept talking about Black."_

_Ron made a sympathetic murmur and Hermione went back to her book. Only Ginny didn't seem fooled. Her gaze lingered and a flush climbed up the back of Harry's neck. When she looked away, Harry sagged on to the couch, summoned writing supplies, and got to work writing a letter to Remus Lupin._

Harry shook the memory away. He hadn't thought about that day in years; unfortunately, his experience with other witches—

 _No, Harry,_ he ordered himself.  _Don't dwell on that._

He gripped the cool porcelain of the sink.  _Think of your grandparents… you get to see them…_

Ten minutes later, he was back downstairs. Ron was finally home, and Hermione was still incredulous. "I don't understand. It's such a simple potion! I've gotten it from the apothecary loads of times… Ginny, you should be feeling better!" But Ginny was no better than she'd been before she'd taken the potion Hermione'd made her. She was still coughing and her eyes were glassy with fever.

"What're you doing, looking so fancy?" Ron asked, looking over at him.

"I thought I might go out and find another potion," Harry told Ron, trying to be both honest and evasive.

"Dressed like that?"

"Nothing else is clean," said Harry.

"Oh, Harry, you really ought to be better at doing your laundry," Hermione said.

Harry's face heated.

Ginny coughed again.

"I'm going to go," Harry mumbled. "Ginny, I'll be back."

Harry Apparated to the wide, gracious atrium that Ginny had taken him to once before. He took in a deep breath, then walked forward. His footsteps made a muted sound; he kept his eyes straight forward. There was a small desk, an old fashioned rotary phone, and a quill in the center of the room. He had a moment of doubt when he realized that a potioneer as wealthy as Tiberius would not appreciate it if Harry walked in and started throwing out his first name.

 _What was his name again?_ Harry fought hard to remember. It was something familiar; he knew someone by the name of it. Someone he'd gone to school with.  _McLaggen!_

Harry reached for the quill. As he grasped it, a scroll appeared before him. It prompted him to write his name. Harry glanced back over his shoulder, and wrote  _Harry Potter for Mr. McLaggen_. That done, he could no longer contain his nerves and excitement. He smoothed Sirius's old jacket over his stomach and strode over to where he knew he would find his grandparents. It'd been brilliant to meet them as August. It would be even more brilliant to meet them as himself. The portrait—

—was empty.

Harry stopped short in disappointment. All the background details were there, but it was empty of the two people he most wanted to see. Fleamont and Euphemia had done what magical portraits were wont to do and were visiting elsewhere. Something inside him sagged along with his shoulders.

"Harry Potter!" Tiberius boomed.

Harry turned. He smiled a greeting, and shook the man's hand.  _Remember, you're also here for Ginny,_ he told himself.

"I wondered if you would ever find your way here," said Tiberius. He gestured toward the portrait. "This was your family business, you know! Four generations of Potters built this place!" Harry tried not to pull away when Tiberius wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"I just found out about this place," Harry said honestly. "I didn't — know about it."  _I was raised away from this world, you see, and I think people just assumed I knew what they knew, so they never bothered to talk about it._

"Well, here you are now!" said Tiberius. "Fleamont will be sorry he missed you. They're off visiting one of their other portraits, I assume. Come back any time. Now, what did you want today? A tour? A job — never heard you were a potioneer, but if you want—"

"I'm afraid I'm not particularly adept," Harry said, rueful. "Which is actually why I'm here. A friend of mine is very sick... for some reason the Pepper Up isn't working." He tried to make this sound innocent, like it wasn't a question he was trying to untangle. "Must be some sort of other illness. The crowds at St. Mungo's are pretty bad, you know, and she's so miserable. If there's anything you can do..."

He need not have explained so much. "Ah, you've come to the right place!" Tiberius told him, clapping his hands together. "Let's have a spot of tea, and I'll have a couple of my lads parcel up a sampling of potions for you."

Less than an hour later, Harry was holding a case of Tiberius's recommended potions. During tea, he'd been given a lecture that was both informative and more interesting than anything Snape had had to say during Harry's time at Hogwarts. Pepper Up was kind of a catch all term for potions that had been mixed together. In Harry's case, Tiberius's lads had put together samples of the most powerful anti-sickness potions the company had. "I swear by them," Tiberius said cheerfully. "Never use anything else when I'm sick. It's not just because I'm president of this company." They were back in the lobby after finishing their tea. Harry was eager to get the potions to Ginny, who must be fairly miserable by now. "Your girlfriend will feel better in no time!"

"Oh — erm — thanks," said Harry. The back of his neck got hot. It wasn't worth it to explain it to him, was it? What was the harm in Tiberius thinking Harry had a girlfriend? "She'll appreciate it."

In actuality, Harry did not find out if Ginny would appreciate the potions or not. By the time Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, he found the sitting room empty except for Ron, who looked both sheepish and defiant. This was never a good combination.

"What did you do?" Harry asked him sharply.

"I didn't do anything," Ron immediately fired back.

"I finally got back from getting her potions, and she's gone? And you  _didn't do anything?_ "

"It was an accident," said Ron. "And listen, it's between me and Ginny. I'm not going to tell you."

Harry looked at him with real annoyance. It was not hard to guess what he'd said. "Did you tell her I just brought her back here and went out for potions because you told me I was rude to her?" he asked.

"That was part of it," Ron admitted. "I mean, it's pretty obvious you're trying to make up for some of the – you know, in the past. It's not like it's a  _bad_ thing, Harry. But Hermione did say that I made it sound like you just did it because you pity her," he mumbled. "She left pretty quickly after that."

Harry blew out a breath. This was nearly as disappointing as finding his grandparents's portrait empty. Everything he could tell Ron right now would be a betrayal of Ginny's secrets. The truth was, Ginny had her own vibrant life going on. The last thing Harry thought about doing was pitying Ginny. Envying her, perhaps. And he couldn't tell Ron any of this because then Ron would wonder why, exactly, Harry's whole perception of her had shifted. It was safer for Ginny's secret to let her brother keep thinking that Harry was still blind and dumb.

"I went out of my way to get these for her," said Harry.

"And I'm sure she—"

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it when you deliver it to her," said Harry. "When you go over there  _right now_  and give them to her."

"Fine," grumbled Ron. "These better work."

Harry slumped upstairs, not even bothering to wait for him to leave.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The night before Halloween, the staff at  _The Turnip_ celebrated Ginny's return to good h _e_ alth by going out to the Leaky Cauldron. There was a crowd, and they had to squeeze into one of the small booths in the corner.

"Sorry about that," said Hannah Abbott, their server. She grimaced and shrugged. "It's always busy around Halloween, but this is a little..."

"Excessive?" Neville supplied. Harry peered at him. There was something in Neville's voice. He was smiling up at Hannah, and not taking his eyes off her. The corner of his mouth lifted.

"Would you bring me a gillywater?"

"Of course," said Hannah. "What else?"

Harry asked for a butterbeer, not trusting himself to have any sort of alcohol and still maintain his secret. Sobriety was the best choice.

When the drinks arrived, they toasted Ginny, who drank her glass in one. "Another?" Neville asked. He appeared eager to go back to the bar, where Hannah stood.

"Please," said Ginny.

The drink had given her a bit of a flush. Harry smoothed his hands over his thighs, thinking of the way she'd been cropping up in his dreams lately. The details were hazy; he couldn't remember much beyond the fact she was in them and that they were very enjoyable.  _Pleasurable_ , Harry thought. In fact, the last time, he'd—

Quickly, he thought of Quidditch, of potions, of the wrackspurts Luna was insisting were flying all around them. Ginny was halfway done with her second gillywater, and Harry was smiling and taking as much part in the conversation as he could.

"Luna," Ginny said. She leaned forward. The shirt she was wearing wasn't low cut by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry caught a glimpse of a shadow that was the first hint of cleavage. "Do you ever even get sick?"

"I don't," Luna said. "It's all the plimpy tea... my dad swore on its health benefits..."

_Tea. Xeno Lovegood. Plimpies._

"That sounds about right," said Harry.

Neville came back to the table then with fresh drinks for everyone. The booth suddenly seemed ten times smaller. Ginny wasn't  _touching_ him or anything, but he could feel her. Whenever she moved even the slightest bit, a sweet, flowery scent wafted in his direction.

He downed his second butterbeer like it was liquor.

"Do you lot come here often?" Harry asked during a lull in another wrackspurt conversation.

"Often enough," said Neville.

"Yes, ever since he started talking to Hannah, we've come here a lot," said Ginny. "A lot a lot."

Neville flushed as Luna giggled.

"She seems nice," said Harry. The butterbeer had an alcohol content that was serious for house-elves, but negligible for adult wizards. Still, he gradually warmed. Ginny, Neville, and Luna had the ease of old friends, but they went to efforts to include him.

He was just laughing at one of Luna's jokes, when a suspicious voice cut through all the humor in the room.

"What's going on here?" Ron demanded. He wore the purple and black uniform of a driver of the Knight Bus.

Ginny and Luna exchanged glances and continued to laugh.

"Ginny!" Ron said, exasperated.

"I'm having a drink with friends," said Ginny. There was an annoyed  _what does it look like I'm doing?_ hidden somewhere in her words, but she didn't voice it.

Ron stabbed him with a glare. "Who is this, then?" Guilt pinned Harry to the seat. He knew Ron was acting belligerent over Ginny sitting with some unknown man. It was excessive and over the top, and knowing as much as he now did about Ginny, he was surprised Ron didn't have bats dripping out of his nose. The guilt wasn't because he was sitting with Ginny; Harry suspected that if Ron could perform Legilimency and found out about the dreams, Harry would be in trouble.

"That's August," Luna said brightly.

Harry gave Ron a half wave.

"How'd you meet him?"

"Just at work," said Ginny.

"What's he got to do with kneazles?"

"Just likes them, I guess," said Luna.

This did not impress Ron much, and he glared at Harry again. "I'm just thinking he looks a little old to be sitting here with you—"

"He's only twenty-eight," said Luna.

"And you're only twenty," Ron was glaring at Ginny now.

It was the implication that Ginny was so young that she couldn't make her own decisions as to who she sat next to at a bar that had Harry opening his mouth. "Is she only twenty?" he asked, with an air of great surprise. "That's hard to believe."

"Why is that hard to believe?"

Ginny, Ron, and Luna were all staring at him now. Harry was just lucky Neville had disappeared some time ago.  _Play it cool, Potter._ "She handles herself like someone a lot more mature. Those – kneazles are a lot of work. She just takes it all in stride and gets everything done. Even when she's sick."

Ron's mouth twisted in a grimace Harry recognized all too well. He was very annoyed, but couldn't refute what Harry was saying.

"HEY, KNIGHT BUS BLOKE!" someone was shouting from the front of the pub. "I WANNA GET TO MANCHESTER BEFORE DAWN!"

"Calm your tits!" Ron shouted back, supremely unconcerned that someone might consider that unprofessional. Then he swung his glare back to Harry. "You work with her, then?" His tone was heavily laden with suspicion.

"His aunt is Ginny's boss," said Luna.

"That she is," said Harry.

Ron chewed on that for a moment. "So why're you at the pub with him? Don't tell me Harry has competition."

Harry jolted at the sound of his name. At the same time, Ginny slammed her glass down on the table. The last of her fourth gillywater sloshed out onto the table. She stood up. "For Merlin's sake, Ron," she snarled. "You're embarrassing me."

Ron did not recognize the danger. "Does Mum know you drink gillywater?" he demanded. "And come out with  _twenty-eight_ year old men?"

"Does Mum know  _you_ got so drunk at the Hog's Head last time you were there that you tried to sleep in the bushes outside until Aberforth floated you to a room?"

"It wasn't a room, he just put me on the hearth," Ron said defensively. "But we're not talking about me right now, we're talking about you. Ginny—"

"Save it, Ron." Ginny's lip curled. "Why don't you go coddle your other little sister?"

"I don't  _have_ another—"

"Oh, you seem to think you have a three year old sister somewhere," Ginny said. "Someone who needs to be protected, have her friends interrogated, needs to listen to her mummy about what she can drink."

"That's not—"

"That's  _exactly_ what you're trying to do," said Ginny.

Harry was poised to intervene. He had his wand in his hand and he was already planning the best way to break this up. Instead, a large pint of Occam's Ale started bouncing up and down on top of Ron's head. They all looked around, flabbergasted.

A group of rowdy wizards were laughing. "WE WANNA GET TO MANCHESTER!" Their ringleader was twitching his wand up and down in time to how the glass bounced on Ron's head. Ale sloshed out over onto Ron's hair, and Harry suddenly couldn't take it anymore. He sent a wordless jinx, and one of the guilty party bent over and vomited all over the floor.

"You better not do that in my bus," Ron barked at them. He seemed to take their antics in stride. He glared back at Ginny. "We'll talk later," he said.

"Or not," Ginny called to his retreating back.

"You did good, backing her up like that," Luna said with warm approval. "Good job, August."

"Yes, thanks," said Ginny. She smiled at him. Harry could hear the musical horn of the Knight Bus, but didn't look away from her.

"You're welcome," he said.

"He's not so bad, but he can get—"

"Over-protective," said Luna.

Harry nodded, and was grateful when they didn't pursue this conversation.

"So what are your plans for Halloween?" Luna asked Ginny.

"Over-seeing some trick-or-treating in a wizarding village," said Ginny.

Harry perked up at that. "Trick-or-treating?"

Ginny smiled at him again. "Yes."

"Want some company?" he asked her.

She dipped her head in a nod. "Sure, might as well," she said. "If anything goes wrong, I wouldn't have to summon you." They were just making plans to meet at the church just after four in the afternoon when Neville returned.

"We made plans for tomorrow!" he crowed. "She's got it off… the Leaky always does a huge feast, but she hasn't got to work. I think I'll take her to Gran's…"

Later, Harry realized he'd not thought to ask where they were going tomorrow. He was just glad they were going to be somewhere without her brothers.

His dreams that night grew increasingly restless one by one. In the last, they were holding hands and walking down a path. The warm wood was filled with dappled sunlight. She was smiling at him, and then pulling at him to sit with her on a log.

"Take off your shirt," she told him. "You need the sunshine."

"Only if you take off yours," Harry countered.

His shirt and hers melted away. Her bra was bottle green and Harry could not take his eyes from it. A playful little breeze tickled his back as Ginny put her hands on his chest. She stroked him the way she'd stroked Fawkes. Breathless, Harry pulled her onto his lap. His hand splayed over her smooth stomach. She continued to stroke him; her fingers tangled in the hair on his chest.

The log disappeared, and they toppled over into a soft pile of leaves. Ginny's hands were on his face, she was straddling his stomach, and her lips were nibbling at his. He stroked her back, feeling a jolt of pure pleasure at the uninterrupted smoothness he found there. His eyes closed of their own accord. Pleasure rose, and rose, and he squirmed with it, gasping as she kissed him.

His orgasm woke him up.

 _It was a dream, it was just a dream_. Harry was both guilty and disappointed at that. His racing heart calmed. He took his wand and cleaned up the mess he'd made. This time, the images took a while to drift away and it was nearly dawn before Harry slept again.


	11. Chapter 11

The morning sun woke Harry out of a doze. He'd tossed and turned the rest of the night after his dream, and even now — blinking — his first coherent thought was of Ginny.

Harry pulled the pillow over his head.

 _It's a natural fascination,_ he told himself, continuing the internal argument he'd been having since Ginny'd given him an orgasm in his dreams. He'd been following Seeker's column for years; of course he was off-balance finding out it was Ginny all along. Of course he had to seek her out even when he was not working with her. Of course he had to watch her closely — it was natural to wonder how she'd done it for so many years. How she'd done it — and why. He was starting to figure it out; he just needed more time with her. If he could just ignore his body's reaction to her, things would surely go back to normal.

His erection mocked him the entire time he was getting dressed and ready for the day.

Ron waylaid him on his way down the stairs. "You're going somewhere?" he asked. "Today?" Harry couldn't blame him. Ever since Hogwarts, Harry had made it a deliberate point not to go anywhere on that day.

"Yeah, Dumbledore has a few things he wants me to do," said Harry. Then the memory of last night came to him: Ron, standing there, with a pint glass rapping his head. Perhaps this was the source of the odd look on his face. "How're you?"

"Eh," grunted Ron. He sat down on the dark blue sofa with a muted thump.

"Work still alright?"

"It has its moments," said Ron. "I saw Ginny at one of my stops."

Harry paused, gripping the back of the green armchair. The way Ron's mouth turned down in a frown made Harry devoutly grateful Ron did not know Legilimency, and could not guess at where Harry's dreams had taken him during the night.

"I almost had it out with her," admitted Ron. "It was stupid. There she was, sitting with her kneazle friends, and then she was accusing me of thinking I think she's about eleven years old."

Harry did not miss the fact that Ron had glossed over the fact he'd  _treated_ Ginny like she was about eleven, and had earned her ire. He opened his mouth—

"Of course, I probably  _was_ treating her like she's about eleven," he mumbled. "At least, that's what Hermione told me when I told her." He winced. "Well, I pretty much knew right away."

This was one of Harry's favorite things about Ron: he usually admitted when he'd been an arse. Harry cleared his throat. "I've been around your family long enough to know that you probably did treat her like she's eleven," he said. "What'd you do, embarrass her in front of her work friends?"

There was an imploring look in Ron's blue eyes when he looked back at Harry. "Yeah, I... yes," he said. "It's just... you know, I've never stopped having nightmares about seeing what Umbridge did to her. And before that, her being  _used_ by Voldemort. Granted, I've upgraded terrifying situations since then. But every once in a while, I'll be back there, seeing her like that." He shrugged and ruffled his hair. "It's shite, I know."

Harry offered his own shrug. "Everyone recovers from shite differently," he said. There were other things he wanted to say, but as he grasped on a thought, it slid away from him.

"If that isn't the truth, I don't know what is," said Ron.

Harry left Ron to his own thoughts. It wasn't really any of Harry's business, but the more he got to know the real Ginny, the more it bothered him that the rest of the Weasleys were blind to her. It rankled all the way out the back door, down three steps, and over to a hidden corner in the garden. Harry stepped behind a stone bust covered in ivy, touched his wand to the bump on his wrist. Once he'd transformed into August, he Apparated away.

The door to the turnip church stood open and Ginny was standing in front of it. Her long hair flowed down over her cloak. It was a rather fancier cloak than Harry'd seen her wear. It was a purple so dark it was almost black, and it caught together over her chest with three silver buttons. She showed no sign that the gillywaters she'd had the night before had affected her in any way.

Harry smiled at her.

"I didn't know if you'd come," said Ginny.

"I said I would," said Harry.

"A lot of people have different things they'd rather be doing on Halloween," Ginny pointed out.

"Not me," said Harry.

"I'm glad for the company," said Ginny. "If you come inside a moment, I can give you the details."

"What, you're not just going to pull me along and expect me to keep up?" Harry teased her. It was true that she'd never really given him much instruction but let him flounder a bit before he caught his footing.

Ginny gave him a teasing glance. "Maybe I want to be extremely careful with this one."

The church was empty other than them. Harry supposed Neville was off getting ready to meet Hannah Abbott, and Luna was… doing whatever Luna did on Halloween. Harry glanced over at the top of Ginny's head. The Weasleys had invited him over for dinner. "Just a family dinner, dear," Molly'd told him. But Harry preferred a more solitary time. He didn't want to bring down anyone else's holiday. When Ginny'd invited him with her, though, it'd felt right.

"We're going to Godric's Hollow," Ginny told him, she was gathering up some paperwork.

His stomach dropped an inch or two. Her back was to him, for which he was suddenly grateful. "Halloween in Godric's Hollow?" he repeated.

"You see the implications," said Ginny. "It's why I want to be there. There are a lot more magical families there than there were when it happened. Some moved there because it's a nice little village, others moved there because of the status."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "You expect trouble?"

"Not  _really_ ," said Ginny. She turned to look at him. "The Ministry blows some air out every year, and they place all sorts of wards around the place. For safety's sake, they say. But throwing out a couple of wards isn't all that helpful. And I thought – with all the Dark Marks popping up – I really ought to be there. Just in case."

"You like to keep an eye on things." It wasn't a question, more of an observation.

She blew out a sigh. "I do," she said. "But if you don't want to—"

"Oh, I want to," Harry said quickly. It was odd. He shouldn't want to be in Godric's Hollow. It should be the last place he wanted to be. But he didn't want Ginny to stand watch over it alone.

"I'm glad," she said. Her brown eyes were very direct.

The longer she looked at him, the more Harry felt a certain flustered excitement rising in him. Harry could not help but remember his dreams. His body stirred, and Harry forgot Godric's Hollow, forgot Halloween—

She turned away again. "We don't need the Blind Bowlers, but I've packed them and a couple of other things for us. Extendable Ears, talking mirrors – just in case we have to split up – and whatnot."

The purse she'd placed all these items in was tiny and delicate looking. She'd obviously cast a charm that made it bigger on the inside, and Harry was suddenly reminded of the model of the turnip church. It'd gone forgotten in his office for weeks. It was on the tip of his tongue to bring it up—

"Are you ready?" Ginny asked.

"I – yes," said Harry.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_Halloween in Godric's Hollow._

Harry looked around.

The Apparition point Ginny had taken him to was a mile out of the village. "The Ministry won't let it get any closer than here," she told him. Harry privately thought this was a less than effective safety measure.

"It's a bit silly," she said, echoing his thoughts. "It's as though they think anyone with evil intent will give it up once they figure out they've got to walk a bit."

Harry chuckled.

The little path they took was well-worn, but small. Harry kept a careful distance from her as they walked. And more and more of Godric's Hollow came into view. He'd been here, of course. Both times it had been painful. This time was no different. It was Halloween, the anniversary of the night Voldemort had killed Harry's parents and had marked Harry for death. But it was a cleaner sort of pain. Harry didn't feel a stab, more of an ache.

Ginny's arm brushed against his.

"How long have you been coming here?" Harry asked.

"This is my third time," said Ginny.

"Did they recognize you last year?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. They have a bit of a feast before they let the children out, and I don't go to that. I just – you know, watch."

"From the shadows?" Harry supplied. He wondered if she was right, but also wondered how that could be. Ginny was pretty enough to be memorable.

"From the shadows," she confirmed. "The Muggles are always inside by the time the witch and wizard parents let their children out. It's usually dark by the time the  _real_ trick-or-treating starts." Her arm brushed his again. "I've never seen any of the littler ones make a problem, but some of their older siblings can be a little troublesome. I caught one last year transforming pumpkin juice into wine, and handing it over to the littles."

"How old?"

"Teenagers," said Ginny.

"Wouldn't teenagers be at Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

"These have graduated,"

Harry stopped rather suddenly. They were nearly to the village. "You mean witches and wizards who have  _graduated_ from Hogwarts are playing stupid pranks like trying to get little children drunk on Halloween?" The idea seemed so ludicrous to him.

Ginny patted his arm. "Not everyone is as serious minded as you," she told him.

Harry shook his head and muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

In the next few minutes, Harry forgot about the troublesome Hogwarts graduates, and took in the painfully lovely sight of Godric's Hollow. He could see why other witches and wizards had flocked to Godric Gryffindor's birthplace and built their homes here. The sun was setting over the mountains, and gave everything a rosy glow. The cottages had thatched roofs, and the streets were made of cobbled stone. It was quaint and beautiful. It was difficult to reconcile the peace of this place with the night Voldemort had come to shatter Harry's life.

Ginny's arm brushed against his. "Look!" she said, pointing.

A giant jack-o-lantern stood in front of them. It grinned at them its pumpkin grin. Harry had to be impressed with the size of it; it reminded him of Hagrid's pumpkins. In fact, being Godric's Hollow, it very well could be a pumpkin from Hogwarts.

"It's very big," said Harry.

"It reminds me of Hogwarts," Ginny said, grinning.

Then they were in the village. Muggle children dressed in all sorts of costumes raced up and down the streets. Parents chatted with each other, leaning against stone walls, and keeping an indulgent eye on their costumed offspring.

They'd made it more toward the center of the village when Harry saw his first sign of magical activity.

"Hold  _still_ , Hera," a young mother said.

"Rawr! I'm  _Gryffindor!_ " the little witch shouted.

" _Shhh_ , the Muggles are still out," said the mother. "And you're not a lion yet, I've still got to pin this on you." She shook a long something at her daughter. "Lions have tails, don't they? Don't you want to be a lion?"

Ginny was laughing quietly next to him.

"That's not a lion tail," the little girl announced. "That's from Brother's costume last year… it's a scorpion."

"Oh, damn, you're right," said the mother. "Let's just pin this on you anyway. It'll be dark, no one will notice."

"Fine, Mummy, but  _hurry_ ," the little girl implored. "I'm hungry! The feast is starting!"

The mother pinned the scorpion tail onto her daughter's backside and they both hurried up the street toward the feast. Harry and Ginny were quiet for a time, watching the Muggles. They meandered down the cobbled street, avoiding pockets of people. They were drifting further and further toward the center of town, Harry realized. He realized then that a part of him had been hoping that they would stay on the periphery. To his relief, Ginny veered off to the left when they approached the quiet street he'd once lived with his parents. Harry didn't even look at it, did not turn his head the slightest bit, but he knew the instant it vanished from view.

A little family hurried past them, coming out of the mouth of another street. All three of the children were dressed in black robes, had round glasses on, and lightning scars drawn on their foreheads. Harry hid a grimace.  _Of course some of the wizarding kids dress up as me_ , he thought, irritated. Even with all the  _Daily Prophet_ articles.

"Don't run ahead!" the father shouted at his oldest son.

"You can't tell me what to do, I'm Harry Potter!" the boy shouted.

The back of Harry's neck prickled with embarrassment. He chanced a glance at Ginny, and found her not even paying attention to the small family. It was a little bit of a relief, but Harry was also disappointed, though he didn't know why.

Ginny made a small noise of irritation. It jolted him out of his melancholy.

"Whoever did that is an arse," she said with quiet venom.

It was the war statue ahead of them. Harry blinked. It didn't look like anything was wrong. Then he took a step closer. The war statue dissolved, and the statue of him and his parents stood before him. It had been defaced. The faces of James and Lily had been painted white and other embellishments gave them a look of grotesque death. Baby Harry had been painted a sick green… his eyes were red and he was more snakelike than baby.

"They made… he looks like Voldemort," Harry said unnecessarily.

Ginny drew her wand and marched forward.

She attacked the damage that had been done to Harry first. It was magical paint, Harry realized. He hurried forward to help, and was more concerned about erasing the damage done to his parents. Ginny seemed on the verge of speech several times, but they continued on in silence.

Harry thought less and less of the damage done to the statue, and more and more of Ginny. He didn't think he'd ever been closer to understanding her than he was at that moment. Lowering his wand, he just looked at her. Courage and compassion had combined to create some new thing in her. For an instant, he thought he'd grasped it, but then it slid away from him.

 _I have to tell her I'm Harry_ , Harry thought. The dreams… his understanding of her… the way he couldn't stop looking at her, or thinking about her. He had to tell her. It struck him, then. He'd gone from having no such idea to knowing that was exactly the right thing to do before he took this any further.

"Ginny," Harry said.

The bells in the church behind them began to ring. They seemed to ring in time with the beating of his heart.

"Hm?" Ginny said.

 _She's going to be so angry,_  thought Harry. The thought made him hesitate.

"I, erm, I have something to tell you," said Harry. She looked at him, calm and attentive, her wand still poised over baby Harry. The bells were clamoring in his ears, his heart was racing in his chest, and he felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach.

"Are you feeling ill?" Ginny asked. She touched his arm. "Do we need to leave?"

His whole body felt hot and weird. "I – I have to – tell you something," Harry said. He had to force the words out of his mouth. Sweat beaded his brow. He wished those damn bells would stop ringing.

"What is it?"

"Ginny, I'm—"


	12. Chapter 12

His head felt strange, and his muscles trembled. He had a fleeting thought that something had just happened; his limps felt weak, as though he were about to sag to the ground. He put a hand on the Potter statue and coughed. "Sorry," he told Ginny. "Coughing fit."

"Are you alright?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said August.

"Were you going to tell me something?" Ginny asked. A frown marred her smooth brow.

August waved. "I forgot, it obviously wasn't too important," he said. He stepped back and eyed the statue critically. There was still paint on it, but mostly chips and flakes. "Looks like this is almost done."

"Not quite," said Ginny. The tone in her voice told August that she was not going to stop until all the ugly paint was gone. He went back to scrubbing at the father's face. It did seem like a rude thing to do, and he wondered what made someone target this. Anger? Revenge? Contempt? Or a stab at humor? For some reason, this last thought struck him as the most probable.

"Think your brothers did this?" August asked with a sideways grin.

"My brothers?" Ginny asked. She stopped her efforts and turned to face him fully. Her brown eyes were like saucers. "You think my brothers did this?"

"They like to pull pranks, I've been to their joke shop," said August. Also, the younger one had hinted there might be something between Ginny and Harry Potter.  _Does Harry have competition?_ He'd asked. Considering their almost pathological over-protectiveness of Ginny, it didn't seem at all odd that they'd vent their frustration on the bloke's statue.

"They're  _friends_ with — with Harry," Ginny said. "They have a  _line_. The twins might've sold the paint, but they wouldn't have if they'd known what it was going to be used for."

August backed off. "Okay," he said, making a placating gesture. "I didn't know." But he'd spent more time with her over the last month and a half that he decided to press. "Just what the young one was saying last night made me think of it, that's all."

"The young one," Ginny said slowly. "You mean Ron?"

"Yeah, him," said August. "Didn't seem too chuffed about you and Harry."

"There's no — Ron was just — my brothers always say stupid things," said Ginny. August's eyebrows slowly rose. Ginny Weasley, the Seeker, sputtering? August backed off.

He eyed her while he finished up working on the father's hair. It was a mess — and not just James Potter's hair. Ginny was younger than him, beautiful, a founding member of  _The Turnip_ , brilliant, the only girl with six older brothers, brimming with courage, and while she styled them partners, she was his senior. It was  _messy_ that he couldn't seem to stop thinking about her.

 _The rest of her family has nothing to do with me,_ thought August. He was admiring the way the fastenings on her traveling cloak pulled the fabric taut over her breasts when a scream tent the air. Both of them jerked to attention, heads pointing to where the sound was coming from.

At exactly the same moment, they began to trot down the street.

The street lamps cast enough of a glow that August did not trip over any uneven cobbles. They hurried by a corner store, and dodged teenagers smoking on the curb. "Watch it!" one of them yelled.

"Watch yourself!" Ginny shouted back.

"I think it's this way," he said, pointing to the left. Just then, another scream rent the air. And August heard a roar.

"Did something just  _roar_?" Ginny asked.

There was no warning. They went around another corner, and a blast of fire nearly incinerated August. He grabbed Ginny's hand, and hauled her back. "That was a fucking chimera!" he said in disbelief. He'd only seen the beast briefly: it looked like a giant lion with glowing red eyes and a tail like a scorpion. "What the fuck is a chimera doing in Godric's Hollow?"

It roared again. Another blast of fire singed the air.

August and Ginny stepped forward, wands raised. "DEPULS—"

"NO!" a woman screamed. "NO! DON'T HURT HER!"

She came barreling into August and Ginny, slamming them into the brick wall behind them. "Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!" August recognized her as the witch who'd been pinning up her daughter's costume.

"Is that your pet?" Ginny asked. Her face was chalk white, and her mouth was open.

"NO!" she screamed. "No! That's my daughter!"

August exchanged a look of disbelief with Ginny. The chimera roared again, and leapt up onto a car. The hood made a screeching sound as it dented under the weight of it. "Ma'am—"

"She – she – SHE'S MY DAUGHTER!"

August jerked his head at Ginny, who wrapped her arm around the distraught witch's shoulder. August strode forward, prepared to do what he must to protect the people who lived in Godric's Hollow. A chimera could wreak havoc, could do terrible damage…

He stumbled forward, splayed out on the ground, when the witch wrapped her entire body around his lower legs. "I TOLD YOU! THAT'S MY DAUGHTER! SHE'S A LITTLE GIRL!"

August spat dust out of his mouth. "IT'S A CHIMERA!" he roared.

The chimera jumped up and down on the car. The windows broke; shattered glass sprayed over the pavement. Taking no notice of this, the beast pointed its head straight up and let out another burst of flame.

"SHE TURNED INTO HER COSTUME!" the witch shrieked.

In the end, Ginny stunned the chimera. August would have helped her, but the witch would not let him up, seemed to think he was a danger.  _It's the chimera who's the danger!_ he thought, indignant. It took seven jets of red light before the chimera finally collapsed. It was then the witch started sobbing and babbling incoherently. With Ginny's help, he managed to get her to her feet.

The chimera was disillusioned and floated ahead of them.

"We're lucky the Muggles weren't here to see this," August told Ginny.

"We put some Muggle-repelling charms," said the witch, hiccupping. She was leaning on Ginny enough that Ginny was bowed practically in half. "We wanted the children to have fun without having – having to hurry." Tears splashed down her face.

August privately wondered if the woman had gone mad. Children didn't just turn into whatever they wore for Halloween. Even with magic, the idea was ludicrous.

It turned out that the five magical families in Godric's Hollow with young enough children to celebrate Halloween had enchanted a large garden space. The inconsolable witch pointed it out to them; there was a tiny hole in a high stone wall climbing with ivy. They went through it and emerged into the type of chaos August hadn't seen in many a year.

Someone – most likely several someones – had taken great care with setting up a grand Halloween feast. They'd taken a small, out of the way garden, and transformed it into a Halloween playground. Jack-o-lanterns bobbed in the air, illuminating waltzing skeletons dressed in old-fashioned clothing, pirate skeletons steering a ghost ship, and bats flapping to-and-fro.

Ginny sucked in a sharp breath, and August grabbed her hand again, rescuing her from the clutches of the witch, who sagged to the ground beside the stunned chimera. Before them, parents were shouting, crying, and screaming. Two ghosts bobbed up and down; one was a toddler boy, another was a little girl nearing Hogwarts age. A goblin was announcing in a bullfrog voice that it needed to get back to Gringotts. "I'VE GOT IMPORTANT GALLEON BUSINESS."

Three identical dark-haired men with lightning scars sat quietly at a table. August stared at them in disbelief. He'd never seen Harry Potter in person, but there he was – there  _three_ of him were. Them?

Ginny's grip tightened on his hand. "I think they might be right," she said in utter disbelief. "Look – remember we saw three children dressed as Harry Potter? And that chimera… there was a little girl dressed like a lion, but her mum used a scorpion tail…"

"THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU!"

August thought swiftly. In truth, real chimeras were a lot more vicious. They ought to be nursing some severe burns. There should be a few people headed to St. Mungo's. Instead, the chimera snoozed peacefully. As he was thinking, Ginny pulled him along toward the center of the crowd. She lifted her wand to her throat and performed a Sonorous Charm. "What, exactly, is going on here? Did we hear correctly? Did the children—"

There was a thump. A tall, red-headed man stood up. "Ginny?" he asked.

"Oh no," Ginny muttered, canceling the charm. Her hand convulsed in his.

"Is that your dad?" August whispered.

She shook her head. "My oldest brother. That's Bill."

Bill made his way over. The closer he got, the more apparent the grisly scars on his face were. They were red and puckered, and pulled the lid of one eye down. He looked from their joined hands to August's face and then to his sister. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm on a date," said Ginny.

Even though it wasn't precisely true, August felt a pulse of excitement. He moved an inch or two closer to Ginny, brushing his arm against hers. Both of Bill's eyebrows raised.

"A date," he said.

"You know, two people meet and get to know each other—"

"I know what a date is," Bill cut her off. The corner of his mouth twitched. "In fact, that's why  _I'm_ here, but—"

"But what?" Ginny said.

Bill just sighed.

"So what's going on?" Ginny said, gesticulating around.

"An hour ago, everyone was having a lark, eating, playing games, and then I guess… twenty or thirty minutes ago, the kids just – transformed into whatever costume they were wearing," said Bill. His tone was saturated with disbelief. "It was instantaneous. One minute, Tulip's daughter was dressed like a lion, the next she was a chimera. Blasting fire. Merlin." He shook his head. "The longer this goes on, the more worried I get…"

"Why?" asked Ginny. "I know that – obviously we should be worried, but why specifically?"

"The longer it lasts, the more likely it's a cursed object," said August. "Spell like this, with this many children affected? Should be wearing off by now unless it's got an object as a focus."

"Curses like these are usually more powerful when – I'm sorry," said Bill. "But who are you? Other than my sister's date."

"August Peverell," said August. He held out his hand; after a moment, Bill shook it. "You know a lot about curses?"

"I'm a curse-breaker," said Bill. "So I can tell you that even if it is a cursed object, there will be some sort of time limit. Transfigurations like this can't last forever."

"Who is the target of the curse?" Ginny asked. When Bill looked at her, she added: "I'm not an idiot, Bill, thanks. This is powerful, dark magic. It's not just some accident. So who out of all of these people are most likely to be the target?"

August noticed that Bill spread his hands the way Ginny did when she was searching and reaching for an explanation to some problem. "It's just a Halloween party," he said. In low tones, he explained. These people were his friends from his Hogwarts days. A lot of them had settled near each other and they still got together. August was a little impressed by that. He couldn't think of anyone from his school days that he'd kept in contact with.

"None of them even work for the Ministry," Bill said in an aggrieved tone. "They just don't  _do_ anything that would lead to anyone targeting them."

The father with a ghostly daughter stood up. He was tall and thickly muscled. " _Tulip Karasu!_ " he shouted. "Is this one of your pranks? Ismelda and I have a  _ghost_ now for a daughter and—"

This shattered the disbelief that had permeated the enchanted area and made everything appear calm. August realized now that it was only the calm before the storm. Tulip, the woman with a chimera for a daughter, stood up and shrieked something back. In a matter of moments, spells were flying, old friends attacked each other, and it wasn't until Ginny stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle that everyone stopped to listen.

August couldn't help but note that Bill took a step back, eyeing his sister with disbelief.

Only Tulip was still shouting. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK, BARNABY LEE!"

This time, Bill whistled.

It took a while to cut through the suspicion that one of their own had done this. Not for any nefarious purposes, August thought, but as a prank. "Tulip was always pulling this shit back at school," said Barnaby Lee. "Her and Jae and Tonks." August and Ginny exchanged a quick look of recognition at the name  _Tonks_.

"There are pranks, and then there's turning  _children_ into ghosts and chimeras and Harry Potters!" Tulip shrieked.

"I didn't know you knew there was a line," said Barnaby Lee's wife.

"Stop." Ginny'd finally used the Sonorous Charm, and her voice flattened everyone else's.

She gestured toward Bill.

"It'll be some sort of cursed object," he said. "We all know it could look like anything." There were a few grim laughs. It made August wonder what Bill's years at school were like if his friends acted like veterans. "It's most likely something in this space. Of course, cursed objects tend to be hidden. But I want everyone looking. Tulip, stay with your daughter. Prepare to Stun her if she wakes up. Last thing we need is a chimera breathing down our necks."

Bill's friends methodically sacked the enchanted space. August stuck close to Ginny's side, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. He reached out and toyed with the ends of her hair. "If Bill hadn't been here, you would've taken charge a lot sooner than he did," said August.

The corner of her mouth curved up and her brown eyes glinted at him. "Are you  _flirting_ with me?"

"We're on a date, aren't we?" he asked. Everyone was shouting back and forth with increasing frustration. All the skeletons were having even their most private bones checked by scared and angry parents. One of the pirate skeletons, fleeing his tormentors, nearly cracked August with his cutlass. August ignored them. They'd sort themselves out eventually; there wasn't much he could do, anyway. "Isn't flirting part of the deal?"

Ginny's skin was the color of cream. If August hadn't been looking very closely, he would've missed the rosy flush. "It's a date?"

"That's what you told your brother," said August. "And that's what I assumed. You invited me to come with you on a holiday." There was also the spark between them. August couldn't deny it, nor did he particularly care to. Ginny was a beautiful witch, courageous and strong. They'd work through whatever complications there were. August was growing more certain by the minute that it would be worth it.

He thought it might've been her whistling that did it.

"I guess there's no denying it," said Ginny. "I just…"

But August did not get to hear the rest of her sentence.

"It's not here," said one of the parents. His voice was tight with anger. "Damn it, it's not here."

"Does this — does this mean it's not just us?"

"Well, we've got to search the entire Muggle town now, I'm not going to just stand by—"

"Oh Merlin!" A tall black woman clapped her hand over her mouth. "Remember how I mentioned earlier that I saw some teenagers dressed as You-Know-Who? What if—"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Voices swelled around him. August's first thought was denial. Who would celebrate Voldemort by dressing up as him? He'd been the architect of so much misery. Thousands had been killed or worse, and there were teenagers stupid enough to take his likeness? His heart beat slightly faster in his chest, despite the fact Bill was now telling everyone to remain calm, they didn't know for absolute fact that anyone had turned into Voldemort, there was no need to panic. August let out a breath. Bill was right — there was no reason to assume—

Ginny grabbed his arm, and said: " _Harry!_ "

Jolted of his thoughts, August was vexed. Had Harry Potter shown up here?  _Here_ on Halloween, of all places?

But Ginny surged forward, toward a tall couple, dodging a couple of bats that flapped at her.

"Where are your sons?" Ginny demanded. "Where did Har—where did the three Harry Potters go?"

The parents immediately craned their necks, looking around. "Melvin? Perry?  _Jacob_?!"

August did a quick scan of the area. There were no tall, brooding figures with lightning scars slashed across their foreheads. The Harrys had seized their moment, acting when all the adults were otherwise occupied sacking the room in search of the cursed object that had done this. The ghosts still bobbed a foot above the floor; the chimera was still asleep. But the Harrys were gone.

August was the first to reach the small opening that led back to the Muggle street. Ginny was right behind him, and Bill just after her.

Two parents came stampeding out of the little opening, and

"Closer to thirty, if they left right after we started searching the place," said Bill. "You were preoccupied with my  _sister_. Don't think I didn't notice."

"So what if he was, Bill?" Ginny asked in a hard voice.

"I—"

Cold skittered up August's spine and clamped around him like a vice. "What the—" he said in a choked voice. His hand closed around his wand and he brought it out. A wind of malice and fear rustled his hair. Ginny grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.

"There!" Bill cried a moment later.

A hideous skull made of sickly green mist hung like an ugly moon in the sky. August's stomach clenched at the all too familiar sight. It was clear, now, that the children weren't the only ones affected by the curse that turned them into their costume. One of Bill's friends had mentioned seeing a couple of young adults, or teenagers, dressed as Voldemort. It was clear now that they too had transformed into their costume.

Into Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Mark had appeared in Godric's Hollow.

"I think – I think we know where the missing Harry went," said August.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The Potter house was a grim memorial.

August's eyes swept up and down the quiet lane. The cottage stood at the end; it was overgrown with ivy. The right side of the roof was gone, and rubble still littered the ground. The Dark Mark hovered over the cottage as though part of the memorial. It was hard to believe it hadn't been left here. He pursed his lips, drew his wand, and said " _homenum revelio"_ a scant second before Bill did. His wand heated and power surged up his arm.

"Someone is there," said August.

"Ginny, stay back," said Bill.

"Absolutely not," she said.

August ignored Bill and took Ginny's hand again. They walked through the gate together; Bill trailed behind him. An obelisk rose out of the ground. A cursory glance revealed that wizards and witches had used the obelisk to write their names and messages. They ranged from supportive ("Good luck, Harry!") to hateful ("If you died, maybe Voldemort would stop torturing people") to somewhere in between. A pang of sympathy for Harry – the  _real_ Harry – went through him. August ignored it and continued up the overgrown path.

"They left everything the same," Ginny whispered. The tip of her wand ignited. The illumination revealed a dusty, decrepit sitting room. It struck August how  _ordinary_ everything looked under the muck that came from decades of disuse.

"I heard they didn't want to change anything, just in case there was a curse," offered Bill in a whisper. "They didn't want to unleash anything."

"Too scared of Voldemort," August said. His lip curled.

There was a faint sound coming from upstairs. August led the way up the moldering steps. Some of them sagged when he put his weight on them; years of water and rodent damage had damaged the stability of the building. The third step from the top in particular looked unsafe. He paused.

"Here," said Ginny. There was a great squelching sound and some of the water whisked away, leaving the steps looking much safer.

"Nice, Ginny," said Bill. The surprise in his voice irritated August.

The first room they came to was musty and filled with decaying furniture. It was empty and August shut the door on what must have been the Potters's bedroom. Down the hall was the nursery, and one of the Harry Potters lay face down on the floor. "Oh no," Ginny said, dismayed.

August knelt down. "He's alive," he said a moment later. August could see him breath.

" _Ennervate_ ," said Bill.

The Harry rolled over onto his back. Blood trickled out of his nose in a steady stream, and his eyes were unfocused and watery. Bit by bit, August watched him struggle back to himself. Impatience surged. August had to bite it back. For all that he looked like Harry Potter, this was a boy trapped in his own costume.  _Be patient, August,_ he told himself.

"He hurt me," said the Harry. Then he began to cry.

August helped him sit up. There was something troublesome… there was something  _off_. The boy wasn't acting like he was shaking off a stunner. His entire body shook. A thought struck him. "Was it the Cruciatus?"

"I don't know," said the Harry. "I was standing here where he killed my parents. And then  _they_ were here… Voldemort… and the other one…"

"You had two of the Voldemorts here?" Bill said sharply.

"No… I don't think it was two Voldemorts," said the Harry. Blood still trickled out of his nose. August conjured a handkerchief and tried to help. He had a fleeting thought that this might be the youngest of the three brothers who had chosen identical Halloween costumes. "I couldn't see. I s'pose there were only two people, but – but I –  _the pain!_ "

August exchanged a grim look with Ginny. Considering the Harry's weakened state, August suspected that the Cruciatus had indeed been used on him. Bill rushed to help him get the Harry on his feet. His head lolled back and August felt a painful twinge at the thought of having to tell this young boy's parents that he'd been tortured by someone who had become, for all intents and purposes, Lord Voldemort.

"It's all right," he said.

"It hurt," said the Harry. Tears continued to splash down his cheeks.

"Voldemort has hurt a lot of people. I'm sorry he hurt you tonight," said August.

But the Harry was shaking his head. "It wasn't Voldemort," he said weakly. "It wasn't. It was the one he was with."

August wondered if perhaps one of the Voldemorts had brought along a friend who'd dressed as a Death Eater. There were plenty to choose from. Everyone was quiet as they headed back down the moldering stairs, through the decaying sitting room, and out of the corpse of a cottage. The Harry's feet dragged every few feet, but he made an effort. By the time they made it to the street, he was hobbling on his own.

The tears had dried.

"Are you all right?" Ginny asked him cautiously.

"I'm fine," the Harry said in a hollow voice. "I've got to be fine."

Bill nudged Ginny. "It's got to be deuced weird for you to be out on a date and have to track down a bunch of Harry Potters for—"

" _Bill_ ," Ginny said in a sharp voice.

August stared at the back of her head. Exasperation mixed with jealousy. She couldn't spend much time with the  _real_ Harry Potter; August had spent more hours with Ginny in the last month or so than he had sleeping in his own damn bed. They weren't in any sort of relationship that August could tell, but first the younger one and then Bill alluded to her tender feelings.  _And she doesn't refute them_ , August thought. It seemed a far cry from her almost mocking tone back when he'd first joined  _The Turnip_. Everything August had heard and everything he'd read made Potter out to be a hermit. Why would Ginny want someone like that?  _That's just jealousy talking_ , was August's next immediate thought.

Bill cleared his throat. "It occurred to me that I didn't check the house," he said. "Wait right here…. I want to see if I can get anything."

Unable to stand it, August grabbed her hand and pulled gently until she stood very close to him. Slowly, he touched her cheek and stroked downward. The street lamp made it impossible to see the expression in her eyes, but August took it as a victory that she didn't pull away.

"Are  _you_ all right?" he asked. He'd threaded his fingers in her hair. It was soft and silky and everything he'd imagined it to be.

"Of course," she said. She sounded amused, but there'd also been a hitch in her breath.

"Your brother seemed to think you were going to fall apart at the sight of Voldemort," August said. There was hardly any space between them at all.

"My brothers are often wrong," she said.

 _About Harry?_  August wanted to ask.

Just then, the Harry in front of him fell to his knees, shaking. "'M sorry," he mumbled. "Can't seem to get up." August let go of Ginny's hand with great reluctance, and moved to squat next to the Harry.

"You were struck with the Cruciatus Curse," August said gently. "It's going to take a bit for you to recover." Memories of pain made shadow puppets in his mind. He'd been under that curse a time or two. And something even worse. He winced away at the thought; August always did his best not to think about the past. "You  _will_ recover, though," said August.

August and Ginny helped the Harry to his feet again. It was a brutal curse, the Cruciatus. Judging from the Harry's shakes and waxen look, he'd been under it for a while. It was worse, knowing that somewhere inside the Harry was a little boy who'd just been out for some Halloween fun with his family. "I have to tell you something," the Harry said in a doomed whisper. "Voldemort… there's a prophecy…"

"We know about the prophecy," said August. "It's been in the paper for years. 'The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal' and all that rot. The bit they keep using to keep – erm – you… you know."

The Harry shook his head and waved his hand. "I knew about all that," he said impatiently. "I'm Harry, remember? It's about my life. But the other one said…"

"The other one said what?" Ginny asked with sharp interest.

"I don't know," said the Harry. His head lifted suddenly. "It was Voldemort who  _started_ hurting me. Then the other one came… There was a red light. Then Voldemort was on the floor – I've – I've only just remembered. The other one  _stunned_ Voldemort, then said something about a prophecy… that its secrets would be revealed. And that Voldemort chose the wrong night to come to Godric's Hollow."

August exchanged a troubled glance with Ginny.

"Do you remember what he looked like?" Ginny asked.

"I couldn't see," said the Harry. He jerked forward, forcing himself to his feet with obvious effort. The movement threw his face in sharp relief. The Harry's green eyes were bright, not with tears, but some sort of intensity of emotion that August couldn't pinpoint.

Bill chose that moment to return. "Nothing," he said. "Let's get him back to his – let's get him back."

August fell in step beside Ginny. Her shoulder brushed his arm, and he took the invitation to do what he'd been doing all night: hold her hand. Her hand was cool and dry in his. He smiled a little to himself. It'd been coming on since he met her. The moment he'd realized this beautiful, almost delicate woman was the Seeker, he'd been intrigued. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. While this was not what he would have planned for their first date – a vague thought of Hogsmeade flitted through his mind – he was glad he was here with her. He was glad she'd invited him.

He couldn't prevent a chuckle from escaping.

"What's funny?" Ginny asked.

"Just thinking I wouldn't have chosen this for our first date," he said. "Tracking down Harry Potters, dealing with multiple Voldemorts… I wouldn't have planned this. But I'm glad I'm here with you."

Bill, who'd been shepherding the Harry up the darkened street, gave him a long look over his shoulder. August returned it, realizing he'd been a bit optimistic earlier. He'd read all about Ginny's family; they were nearly as famous as the real Harry Potter. There were a lot of them. But August wasn't going to let them prevent him from getting to know their sister. She was an adult and so was he. So when Bill's lips tightened, August raised his eyebrows.

They made it back to the place the wizarding families had enchanted for their Halloween party without further incident.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

To August's relief, they found the other two Harrys within, magically bound by their parents, and unharmed. It was too much to wish for that the parents had been wrong, and hadn't seen two Voldemorts. August found himself wondering if the mysterious figure who'd been at the Potters's old cottage had gotten to the second Voldemort.

"You know who would be absolutely aghast at the idea of three Harry Potters running around?" Bill murmured. They both watched as Ginny led the Harry they'd found at the Potter cottage back to his parents.

"Voldemort?" August suggested. His eyes narrowed as he took in the gentle way Ginny dealt with the Harry. He hoped it was because, while he may  _look_ like Harry Potter, he was in actuality a small boy.

"No," said Bill, shaking his head. "The  _real_ Harry."

Their eyes met, and they both chuckled.  _It would be very odd to meet another August_ , August thought.

"He's going to be right appalled when he finds out," Bill said, rubbing his hands together.

August snorted. Ginny was still hovering over the Harry. In general, he admired her compassion — he'd realized some time ago that the grace with which she dealt with people was yet another facet of her courage. Now it made jealous scratch at him. A bat flung itself at August, chittering at him, spreading its leathery wings in his face.

"So tell me," August said abruptly. "Are she and the  _real_ Harry…?"

Bill gave him a long look. "I don't think I ought to talk about my sister's private business when she's not here to set a hex on me for doing it. But I will tell you this, she definitely—"

But August did not get a chance to hear the rest of the sentence. His instincts twinged, and he saw the skeletons moving toward them in a contracting circle. They were no longer benign, no longer the entertainment for children. Sharp knives and cutlasses were held in fleshless hands. A misty green fog writhed around them. They were coming closer, marching at the command of a pale, snakelike man…

"HE'S HERE!" August shouted. "VOLDEMORT IS HERE!"

_Damn it, the bat was giving me a warning._

There was a brief, shocked silence. Bill launched himself toward his sister, while August flicked his wand and blew up the skeletons marching toward him. Chaos erupted in the enchanted place once more. One mother screamed, long and lingering. Another one joined her.

_Focus, focus, focus._

No longer making any pretense at stealth, the Voldemort practically strolled toward them. Cold energy surrounded him and his red eyes flashed.

"Give me Harry Potter," he hissed.

"No!" Barnaby Lee shouted. "Never!"

All three Harrys stood up. One of them wobbled on his feet.

"It's all right," they all said in unison. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

The Voldemort's eyes widened with shock at seeing three identical Harry Potters. "What's this?" he asked. "Polyjuice, meant to fool me – meant to fool Lord Voldemort?" He laughed, long and thin and loud. "A clever ploy. But just as the wards and charms you placed to protect yourselves were no match for me, neither is this." August exploded three more skeletons. The Harry Potters parents were now standing in front of their sons, stricken, too terrified to move. They could only block him from their sons.

The others were punching through the skeletons and fleeing.

August shifted his position, moving to the side, working to get behind the Voldemort without him knowing. Disgust and fear filled him with equal measure.

He clenched his fist around his wand. His thoughts were focused on the Harrys. No matter how grown-up they looked, no matter that they couldn't remember who they really were, they were still children trying to fight against a nightmare. At their core, they were  _children_. Without thinking about it, without caring about the danger, August stepped out of the shadows and sent a blast of fire at the Voldemort.

His reflexes were frighteningly quick.

The fire was extinguished a hairsbreadth from his face and steam swirled around the Voldemort. Within seconds, the steam coalesced to form a squirming mass of snakes. August rushed forward to grab the Harry by the elbow and throw him out of the way. The Voldemort still had his eye on the Harry, was still obsessed with killing him, that August had to use magic to blow the Harry across the room. " _Expulso!_ " August shouted in the next breath. The snakes blew up and rained chunks of meat and drops of blood.

The Voldemort let out a high, thin laugh. "As usual, Harry Potter is hiding behind others," he said. His red eyes roamed, looking for the Harry. August hoped their parents had them well hidden. He hoped they were even now taking the opportunity to escape this enchanted place and run away.

"Harry Potter is a boy," said August.

Red eyes caught on his. The Voldemort's face was pale, the nostrils like little slits. His skin was pale and waxen; he hardly even looked like a man. August had a moment of disgust for whoever was trapped within Voldemort. Who decided that it would be a fine lark to dress as him for Halloween? To dress as him, and to come to Godric's Hollow? August had all of these thoughts very swiftly…

Voldemort slashed his wand, and all the cutlasses and daggers from the pirate skeletons came pelting for August, shiny in the light of the jack-o-lanterns.

" _Protego_!" he shouted.

The Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

It was then the duel began in earnest.

August was reduced to his wand and his reflexes. Everything else receded. The light seemed to dim and the noises grew muffled. His heart sped up; it was racing in his chest now. His wand slashed through the air, and a jet of red light nearly hit Voldemort's chest. He parried it, but barely, and August's shield charm blocked his next spell. Blood rushed through his ears.

"You have promise," the Voldemort snarled. "Tell me, are you a pureblood?"

August didn't bother to answer. This was less than a man…

Jet after jet of green light came toward him. August dodged all of them.  _Not today_ , he thought grimly.

"You can't defeat the Dark Lord," the Voldemort said. "You can't defeat Lord Voldemort. You don't understand, you see, there is no way you can comprehend. If you kill me now, I will return… even more terrible than before…"

A flash of red out the corner of his eye distracted him. Pain bloomed on his arm and blood spurted out. August ignored the pain and focused only on the Voldemort. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you," said August.

"You  _can't_  kill me, fool!" the Voldemort shrilled.

"I'm not even going to try," said August.

The Voldemort snarled at him; August had his full attention. Another vivid splash of red out of the corner of his eye. Bill had joined his sister. "You'll join me, then," said the Voldemort.

August snorted his contempt. "You're not even the real Voldemort," he sneered. "You're just some manky teenager who thought it would be funny to go terrorize Godric's Hollow—"

"Lies," the Voldemort hissed.

"—terrorize Godric's Hollow, when people  _died_ because of him," August said firmly. He gripped his wand tightly. The moment was at hand.

The Voldemort, who despite all appearances appeared to be the real one, was still a teenager. A sullen pout appeared, entirely incongruous on the snakelike face. "You sound like my  _dad—"_

" _Stupefy!_ " August shouted. Two other voices shouted with him.

And the Voldemort was hit with three different stunning spells coming from three different directions. He crumpled to the floor. Without wasting a moment, August wrapped him in golden cords. So formidable while awake, the Voldemort was laughably vulnerable while stunned. August plucked the wand out of the Voldemort's fingers and shoved it into his pocket.

"I've got half a mind to destroy this wand," said August.

Ginny and Bill came toward him. Other heads popped up all over the enchanted space. Very few of them had taken the escape August's distraction had offered.

"That was well done, August," said Bill, reaching forward to shake his hand.

"In the end it was only a teenager," said August, shrugging. "Not as scary as the real thing, I'll bet."

"With several layers of Voldemort layered over the typical teenage attitude," Ginny pointed out.

The corner of Bill's mouth tipped up as he looked at his sister. "I'm beginning to see why you're attracted to him. Did you take him here so he could fight Voldemort in front of you?"

At Bill's words, and knowing to whom he alluded, August snapped. "Excuse me," he said stiffly, to Bill. To Ginny: "Can I talk to you for a second?"

She nodded. August wrapped his arm around her shoulders. There was something… he needed to have her next to him. The Voldemort had the core of some rebellious teenager, most likely, but it had still been a duel. August hoped she couldn't feel the way his fingers shook in the aftermath. They walked past the people looking shell-shocked and out to the quiet Muggle street. It wasn't raining, not yet, but the air was thick with warning.

"Are you—"

"Is there something – something  _real_ between you and Harry?" August asked. They stopped under a streetlamp twined with wrought iron flowers.

"I'm not comfortable speaking about Harry," said Ginny.

"The day I joined you at  _The Turnip_ , you said he's basically retreated and hasn't done anything else," August said. The moonlight illuminated Ginny's face, turned away as she had from the streetlamp.

"That was the day we met you," Ginny said. Her tone was as cool as the night air. "We've made it a point not to talk about Harry.  _The Daily Prophet_ has gone after him for years. We don't do that."

"Right, you're protecting him the way you protect the hag and the commune," said August. "And the bloke might deserve a break—"

"You think?" Ginny asked. Her arm swept in a wide gesture. "He's been hunted since he was a  _baby_. He deserves to be able to just  _breathe_."

August moved a little closer to her. "But what about you?"

"What  _about_ me?"

"He's given up chasing dark wizards, buried his head in the sand about the situation still evolving in the magical world, ignores everything going on in the Ministry, and I guess I can respect that," said August, lying. He stroked the top of her arm with the tips of his fingers. "But what's he done for you, Ginny?"

"Well, for one, he saved my life at great personal cost to himself," said Ginny. The moon went behind a cloud, and shadows made her face impossible to read.

August made an impatient noise. "Isn't that just his nature? Haven't we just spent the last hours trying to rescue various Harrys from Voldemorts?"

"Careful," she said. "You're about to cross a line."

"I'm not saying I buy any of the manure the  _Prophet_ tries to sell," August said quickly. "And aside from saving you, what's he done for you lately?"

"Well—"

August took her hand and slid his thumb lightly over her wrist. Her pulse jumped. He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Her brown eyes widened.  _I bet he's never done that, never held your hand, never kissed you,_ August thought. But he no longer wanted to talk about another man. He'd had a surfeit of Harrys this evening. All that mattered was this witch, and pulling her into his arms.

He did so gently and slowly, so she could pull away if she really wanted to. He stroked her from her neck to her jaw, slid his fingers into her long, sweet-smelling hair, and pressed his lips to hers. Her fingertips grazed his back. Slowly, the world receded. As his lips slid over hers, time slowed. Pulling her up against him, he deepened the kiss, making a sound of relief when she opened her mouth and let him in—

"Wait," she said, pulling away.

"But—"

"This is… not a good idea," she said.

Ginny pulled out of his arms and took a good three steps back. The smile that tipped her lips up was not anything August could read. He wanted to argue with her, to convince her that they absolutely needed to kiss. After everything they'd been through the last month or so, and everything that had happened… they were  _alive_. There was no better way to celebrate than by kissing.

Instead, she walked away from him. "I'll be inside," she said unnecessarily, jerking her thumb at the entrance to the enchanted area that had become a battleground.

Not even thirty seconds later, the church bells began to ring. August felt pressure growing around his temples. It just figured he'd get a headache. This whole night had been—

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

-Harry sagged against a streetlamp.

_What the—_

_Who—_

_I was—_

_August. August Peverell._

_-kissed Ginny—_

_-Voldemort—_

_I_ am  _Harry Potter._

Harry relived what felt like the entire night. The wrought iron held him up. With the benefit of hindsight, Harry realized that while transforming into August had been about as easy as drawing in a breath, returning to Harry was more complicated. His palms pressed to his temples. A few stolen glances at one of the car mirrors revealed that while his thoughts had returned to his own self, his body was still August Peverell's.

August Peverell, who'd just kissed Ginny Weasley.

It was this thought that made it easier to make the return to Harry. The feel of her still lingered. He could feel her weight in his arms and remembered very clearly what she tasted like.

He allowed himself another minute to collect his scattered thoughts, then he returned to the enchanted space.

Everyone was celebrating. Three little boys sobbed in the arms of their parents. "I thought you were  _dead_ ," the biggest one said over and over again.

The littlest one shook and clung to his mother.

 _August's instincts were right_ , Harry thought.  _It was the littlest one who was tortured._

While the parents and children were celebrating, cavorting with each other and skeletons alike, Bill and Ginny were standing off to one side. Arguing, it looked like. Lips flattening, Harry headed straight toward them. "—don't need to get any more involved in this than you already are," Bill had his arms crossed.

"And why not?" Ginny asked with immense exasperation.

They were standing over a small figure dressed in black with a mask that looked uncannily like Voldemort. Harry was shocked to discover that it was a witch. "A witch?" he said in disbelief.

"That's what I said," said Bill.

"A little girl turned into a chimera, but it's unbelievable to you that a witch dressed as Voldemort?" Ginny asked.

Harry caught himself staring at her. He wished that he could rewind time and have that moment where he could tell her who he was without having kissed her. How could he explain it? Sure, she knew that children and teenagers had turned into their costumes, but could Harry effectively explain that he'd been August?

But there wasn't a moment to get her alone, whether by her design or just by whim. Instead of listening to her brother, she went out with Bill and the others to try to track down the object that had been used to spread the curse. Harry was left to watch the children and the former Voldemort. He watched her as she drooled onto the wood platform she'd been placed on. What kind of person did such a thing? Voldemort and his followers had slaughtered thousands, and this witch wanted to emulate him?

She never woke up for Harry to question her, not even when Ginny and Bill returned an hour later, empty-handed and grumpy. There was a fierce argument.

"We should decide what we want to do with her," said Ginny.

"We?" Bill said, annoyed. "Listen, Ginny, you're not going to get any more involved in this than you already are. Mum's already going to kill me."

"For the  _last time_ , I am not a child," said Ginny. Her face flushed with anger. "At what point tonight did I need you to wrap me in a flying carpet and send me off to the Burrow?"

"When did you get so damn stubborn?" Bill demanded.

"When did  _you_ get so blind?"

Harry had been around the Weasleys often enough that he knew the imminent signs of an explosion. Unable to help himself, he stroked his fingers down Ginny's forearm. "What are we going to do about the former Voldemort?" he asked her. "Take her to Dumbledore?"

"To Dumbledore?"

Both of the Weasleys said this with identical tones of surprise. Harry smothered a smile.

"He'd recognize her even if she isn't a student there anymore," Harry pointed out. "Also he'd know more than anyone else as to what happened here."

Bill's twin werewolf scars were shiny and flushed, as though an infection raged just beneath the puckered skin. The globes of light one of the mothers had created illuminated this. Finally, he sighed. "Taking her to Dumbledore is a good idea," he said grudgingly. "But I should be the one to do it."

"I think you're better here," said Ginny. "You know the most about cursed objects."

Bill appraised him. Harry could see the skirmish going on behind his eyes. Finally, acceptance won. "You'll take her straight to Hogwarts." It wasn't a question. Harry forced himself not to rankle at the condescension.  _How does Ginny live like this?_

"Yes, straight to Dumbledore," said Harry.

He looked at Ginny, wondering if she'd insist on coming with him.  _If you come with me, Dumbledore will certainly figure out who you are. He recommended me for the job, remember. He'll suspect you._ Harry certainly didn't care if Ginny came with him; he wanted her with him. There was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, and she gave her head a shake.

"I think I'll stay," said Ginny.

"I'll Apparate you home," said Bill, cutting Harry a glance. "Make sure you don't have any visitors."

"Bill, have you ever heard of the Bat-Bogey Hex?" Ginny asked pleasantly.

Harry left them arguing, disillusioned the witch who'd thought it a grand idea to dress as Voldemort for Halloween, and floated her out to the Muggle street. It was lonely, walking along these streets without Ginny. He wanted to go back and tell her to come with him, that he would insist that Dumbledore keep her secret, and then tell her his own. Instead, Harry trudged forward, avoiding both passers-by and puddles.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry's throat was sore by the time he finished telling Dumbledore the events of that night. He couldn't sit still. Every time he tried, he leapt to his feet and paced. Dumbledore sat, alert, behind his desk. Harry's eyes were as restless as his body and his thoughts, but he had a feeling that Dumbledore had not looked away from him once since Harry had arrived.

"And the Harry said this other party stunned one of the Voldemorts?" Dumbledore pressed, once Harry's explanations had followed their course.

"Yes," he said. "Stunned him and dragged him away. But also used the Cruciatus Curse on one of the Harrys."

Dumbledore sagged in his chair. In that moment, Harry was reminded of Dumbledore's great age. Since he'd arrived an hour ago, floating what turned out to be a Slytherin witch in her seventh year, Dumbledore had looked frailer and frailer. It was so hard to reconcile Dumbledore's talent and power with his elderly status… "This is how it always begins," Dumbledore said. His fingers rubbed at his eyes, under his glasses, and pressed there for a long moment. "Always. It's always how it begins. Odd occurrences, strange disappearances. It's a pattern, you see."

"Did it ever really end?" Harry asked quietly. "Honestly, I'm not even surprised I had to fight him again. Even if it wasn't even really him."

Dumbledore looked at him. Blue eyes snapped with internal fire. "It did. It did end that night. Something else has begun."

This was cold comfort.

"You're certain?" Harry said. He had never even thought to have doubts that the last Horcrux, the only one he had not seen with his own two eyes, had not been destroyed. Dumbledore would not have lied about that. But the night had been odd enough, strange enough, that Harry could not help but question.

"You're worried that there is another Horcrux."

Harry nodded. "I don't not believe you, but…"

"No matter, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It is a valid question. If not all of the Horcruxes had been destroyed, it would have very much to do with you. But yes, I am satisfied that the former man known as Tom Riddle is moldering in the grave where we left him. There were no more Horcruxes."

"It was a tiara," said Harry, remembering.

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

Harry nodded. The tiara, he'd been told long ago, had been destroyed by Fiendfyre by Dumbledore himself. There was absolutely no reason not to trust him. Harry finally found himself able to sit.

"I feel there are things you have not yet told me about this night," Dumbledore said.

Harry sighed. "I've told you everything important, everything significant." He silently apologized to Ginny. The kiss had been significant in all the ways that Dumbledore didn't need to know. In fact, he was magically bound not to reveal who Ginny was. If Dumbledore found out about their date, he'd likely guess at the rest. He was reminded, suddenly, of how close he'd come to telling her who he was. This was a significant enough thing that he really ought to tell Dumbledore. He just wouldn't tell him  _why_.

"Oh," said Harry. "I'm going to tell them who I really am."

"Harry—"

"It's been long enough," said Harry. And honestly, too long.

"But—"

"Once everyone gets there tomorrow, I'm going to do it," said Harry. "Trust me, there is no reason not to."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "I fear you are being rash," he said. There was an intensity in his tone that pressed Harry back in his seat. In general, that quiet thunder had not been aimed at him.

"I'm not being rash," said Harry. If Dumbledore  _knew_ who Ginny was, this would not be an issue. The words died on the tip of his tongue.  _You can't tell him. You'll break the contract._

"These people aren't members of the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore.

"That doesn't mean they haven't earned—"

"With the… uncertainty we need to keep our secrets," said Dumbledore. "It's not because I don't trust them. I don't trust anyone. Your fame… you know that if people realized you were… moving in such a way, working with a publication that is always challenging the decisions the Ministry makes… I fear that it would place you in a very precarious position."

Harry hated politics. "What could they do to me?" he demanded. "It isn't  _illegal_ to write for a paper."

"You watched a Ministry employee eviscerate and nearly kill an eleven year old child," Dumbledore said. His knuckles were white where he gripped his own desk. "The only reason Miss Weasley isn't dead is because of the miraculous healing powers of a phoenix. Dolores Umbridge would not have been punished for that. Oh, no. The Ministry is  _structurally_ corrupt. They would be just as brutal to you were you to openly defy them. And you would bring a great deal of additional danger on the other writers, whom you obviously revere."

Harry glared at him. "They wouldn't tell."

"Secrets like the fact that Harry Potter is now working for  _The Turnip_  do not stay hidden long," said Dumbledore.

"Then why'd you have me start working for them in the first place?" Harry demanded. "If I'm so dangerous, even  _now_ , even  _after_ Voldemort, why did you tell me to work for them? You  _sent_ me there." Harry did not want to believe it.

"I thought we were united in that it was paramount you not reveal your identity."

Harry thought of Ginny, and mutiny surged within him. "We were. But the situation has changed. I'm going to tell her," said Harry. "I have to tell her." To his own horror, his voice sounded ragged.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. Light flickered oddly; Harry thought he saw a flicker of triumph in Dumbledore's eyes. But that was quickly masked – and probably a figment of Harry's imagination. Fawkes trilled in the corner. The fire popped in the grate. It was a long while before Dumbledore spoke again. "Perhaps we can compromise."

It was not a question.

"Harry, I realize that is exactly what you don't want to do," said Dumbledore. "I am not asking for forever. I just need one month. I need to investigate what happened in Godric's Hollow tonight. I need to look into whether or not there was any truth about this alleged new prophecy, or if that was part of the madness of the evening. And we need to prepare for what happens if I am right and the secret comes out."

"I won't wait forever," said Harry. "I can't."

"A month," Dumbledore said abruptly. "Just one month."

A month seemed awfully long, but Harry did not want to be accused of being rash again. He didn't like it. In the last few days, things had changed. Tonight had changed everything. He'd  _kissed_ her; if he wanted a chance to do it again, he had to tell her sooner rather than later. But Dumbledore had never steered him wrong. Dumbledore had played a long game that ended up saving Harry's life. He'd never once asked him to do something for no reason; in fact, when Dumbledore put his foot down, his reasons were vital.

Harry sagged in his chair. "Fine," he said, suddenly so weary he wished he really did have a bed waiting for him here at Hogwarts. "Fine. I'll wait one month."


	13. Chapter 13

Harry was just stumbling into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes, and in general, more tired than he'd been in years, when he saw Bill's head in the fire.  _You shouldn't be surprised, Potter,_ he told himself. Of course, the events of the previous night in Godric's Hollow were going to need to be discussed. His brain was still sluggish, though, and when he dropped into a chair, he wished he'd never got out of bed. At least Ron and Hermione were there to field the conversation. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he could relive that kiss.

"—have something to tell everyone," Bill said. The firelight flickered on his face, giving his werewolf scars a glowing look. "Can we all meet at the Burrow? Hermione, do you have to work, or—"

"I'm taking today off," said Hermione.

Harry managed a glance at her. She looked nearly as bad as he felt, was sipping tea, and plucking wanly at a piece of toast. "Sick?" he asked, with as much sympathy as he could muster.

She wobbled her hand at him. "There's something going 'round the Ministry."

Harry suspected she had the very beginnings of what Ginny'd just recovered from, and very stealthily scooted his chair further away from Hermione.

Ron was fiddling at the stove. "Yeah, we can be there in a bit," he said over his shoulder. He pulled a lid of a pot, and Harry perked up when the steamy aroma reached him. It smelled delicious.

"Is that chicken noodle soup?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," said Ron. "I made enough for all of us."

"Thank Merlin," said Harry.

"If you don't mind…"

"Sorry, Bill," said Ron. "Yeah, we'll be there as soon as we've eaten. You can't tell us what this is about?"

Bill shook his head. "Better to just tell everyone together."

Harry brushed his thumb over the bump on the inside of his wrist. He feared it was going to be uncomfortable, to hear Bill discussing August. He closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing, and nearly fell back to sleep. He was still mostly asleep, having a waking dream about Ginny, when Ron and Hermione went about the motions of getting ready to leave for the Burrow. It was out of habit that he did as well, repeating what they did, and landing in Molly and Arthur's kitchen.

"Harry, dear, you look peaky," said Molly. "And you, Hermione. Has the Ministry been over-working you?" She gave a deft flick of her wrist and two bottles of Pepper Up potion zoomed through the air, to be caught in her grasp. She handed one to Harry and one to Hermione.

"No, but thank you, Molly," said Hermione.

"Yeah, Mum, they're both sagging, aren't they?" Ron brushed off the soot.

"Thanks, Molly," said Harry. He eyed the potion, wondering if it would actually work, or if it too would be faulty. But once he drank it down, he felt the familiar fizzle of energy stirring. "This is perfect. Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, I've been making my own, just with the ingredients we grow ourselves," Molly said. "Arthur's talking about building a greenhouse... it'd be nice if we could make more of our own potions."

Harry wanted to ask if she, too, had noticed the declining quality of potions and the sporadic way in which the ones sold from the apothecaries worked.

Her next words confirmed his silent question. "I've even thought of making the Wolfsbane for Remus," she said. "But the silver required as the base ingredient is hard to come by — the Ministry's got a strangehold on the supply."

"On silver?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"It's not just any silver, Harry," said Hermione. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the potion.

"Yeah, it's got to be from a cave or something," said Ron. "Remember seventh year, when you were laid up in the special bed they set aside for you in the hospital wing? Slughorn talked about it then."

"I missed learning the  _Wolfsbane_ potion?"

"Nah, he just mentioned it," said Ron. "It's got to be special cave silver, or something to do with hags. Or something."

"Or something," said Hermione, smiling like up at Ron as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

Bill poked his head in the kitchen. "If you lot are done chatting…"

Harry followed, grateful, feeling a fizz of pleasure at the thought of seeing Ginny. Indeed, all the Weasleys were there. Remus stood by the hearth, an attentive look on his gaunt face. Arthur and Molly sat side by side in the love seat. Fred perched on the arm next to him; he was wearing a very old-fashioned looking cravat over his robes, and Harry did not particularly want to find out why. Harry registered each Weasley… except Ginny.

"Where's Ginny?" Ron asked, to Harry immense gratitude.

"I sent her an owl, she said she was busy at work," said Bill.

"From what you've said, this was a dangerous bit of news you had," said Molly. "It's just as well she isn't here… you know she doesn't like to get involved in things like that."

"I don't know about that, Mum," said Bill. "I'll get to that in a minute."

Harry's mind was racing as Bill launched into the story of what happened last night in Godric's Hollow. She was busy at work, was she? Without him? What was  _The Turnip_ going to do about what happened? What would their focus be?  _Damn it, I should have just gone straight there_ , Harry thought. Of course Ginny'd immediately launch an investigation of her own. What had he been thinking?

It was the kiss that was distracting him, Harry knew.  _And it wasn't even me who kissed her, it was August!_ Bill was explaining that the differences between those who'd been transfigured and charmed into their costume and the real thing had been negligible. "My friend's daughter turned into a ghost – she was dressed as a ghost, and then after the bells rang – that's how they did it, they used the bells – after the bell rang, she was incorporeal."

Harry was still dizzy from having become another person, even if only for a brief time. Despite the fact August Peverell was not a real person and never had been, Harry  _had_ indubitably been in costume.

A part of him missed how uncomplicated August had been.

"—and Ginny was there, she was out on a date—"

August had seen a witch he was attracted to, and turned the outing into a real date. He'd been almost completely focused on Ginny – the Voldemorts had almost been an afterthought. Jealousy jabbed at him.  _August_ had gone after what Harry was coming to realize he wanted rather badly.

"Ginny's dating someone?" Hermione asked.

"We all knew it had to happen someday," Arthur said wryly.

"He's a bit old for her," Bill said. "But for all that, I quite liked him."

Harry rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't nearly as much older than Ginny as the fictional August; four years was almost nothing. She wasn't a teenager, or anything, or still at Hogwarts. Harry examined that reasoning and found it sound; age was not a complication between them. He was twenty-four, not an old man.

"How old was he?" Molly asked.

"I think late twenties," said Bill. "I gathered he's some sort of relation to the lady she works for… name's August Peverell."

"Peverell," said Arthur. "That's an old, old name."

"Maybe he's an old, old man, like Bill said," said Fred.

"He's about your age, idiot," said Bill.

"Did he treat her well?" Molly asked.

Bill thought about that while Harry held his breath. He was  _irritated_  in a way that made no sense to him. How could he be this jealous of himself? But his body fairly pulsed with it.

"Yes, he treated her well," Bill said, with a faint air of reluctance. "Ginny was clearly the most important part of his evening. Even with the Voldemorts running around."

Harry's irritation surged and spilled out of his mouth. "Could've been an act, couldn't it? What do we know about this bloke?"

Everyone turned to stare at him. Harry flushed under their scrutiny. "Sorry, feeling a little brotherly," he lied.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked gently.

"I'm a little confused," Harry answered before he could stop himself. "I mean – erm—"

"Anyone would be confused, learning three little children were magically turned into them for a night," said Molly.

"Yes, right," said Harry. "That is very confusing."

Ron gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything.

"It  _is_ ," Harry repeated, trying to sound more convincing.

"We know it is, dear," said Molly.

In fact, Harry'd gotten over that already. Bill continued his tale of what happened; his entire family was riveted. "And you're telling me  _Ginny_ was there when the – the  _You Know Who_ showed up?" Molly asked, aghast. She was clutching at her husband. Her face was very pale against the brilliant blue of the loveseat. "And the little children dressed like Harry—"

"They looked exactly like Harry, and thought they were Harry," Bill said impatiently. "It wasn't a surprise when one of the Voldemorts showed up."

"You could have gotten your sister out of danger," Arthur said heavily.

"She refused to leave, what was I supposed to do, Imperius her?" Bill asked.

"She's just a girl—"

This rankled Harry, who had just finished deciding that however many complications between he and Ginny there might be, age was not one of them. "Isn't she twenty?" When all the Weasleys peered at him, he cleared his throat. "Sorry," he said, waving his hand. "I didn't – you know—"

Bill finally ended the story with how August had defeated the Voldemort.

"At least he sounds brave," Ron said.

"He's a decent bloke," Bill said. "But I have to tell you I was unprepared for how Ginny looked at him. Made himself look like quite the hero, he did, at least in  _her_ eyes."

"I'll want to meet this August fellow," said Arthur. "See if he's really up to snuff. Harry was right; it could've been an act."

Harry coughed. "Sorry, something in my throat," he said. "Must be getting what Hermione's got."

"I did think you looked a bit peaky, dear," Molly said comfortably.

There was one more awkward moment in a morning littered with them.  _Why did I come to the Burrow?_ Harry asked himself again. The Weasleys were not very good about prevarication; this was one of the best things about them as a whole. So when they begin to look at him sideways, and murmur about Ginny, his ears stung. They were trying so hard not to mention her crush on him that it was slightly humiliating. "This August bloke sure knew what he was doing if he defeated a Voldemort for her on their first date," Fred said, earning a pinch in the arm from his mother. "What, we know she has a thing for that."

Harry took the first opportunity he could to escape. He stood, stretched, and feigned a yawn. "I didn't get much sleep last night," he said. It was even the truth. He shook Bill's hand. "Thanks for letting me know what happened. Did you tell Dumbledore about this?"

"Sent him an owl this morning," said Bill.

Harry nodded, said his goodbyes, and tried to appear both calm and casual as he made his way back to the kitchen and the hearth where he could use the floo. There was a growing sensation – almost physical – that he needed to get to the turnip church. Something was happening, he knew it. He knew Ginny; she wouldn't be tired and confused this morning. She'd be alert and ready to deal with whatever she had to.

He  _had_ to get to the church.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They were waiting for him.

Harry'd taken care to wear something different than what he'd worn to the Burrow, and he didn't Apparate to the church until nearly half an hour later. Luna threw open the door, eyes popping excitedly. "There you are! Ginny's told us everything! You defeated Voldemort!"

The back of his neck burned. "Erm – it wasn't—"

"Even though he was a teenager, he was still dangerous," Ginny said. She stood just to the side of the door, and was wearing flowery robes. Her hair was wrapped up in some sort of messy configuration that Harry couldn't help but find fascinating. There were two sticks in her hair that had fat bees painted on them. The bees moved about the visible parts of the hair sticks, flying slowly and drunkenly.

Harry met her eyes. "It really wasn't—"

"Don't be modest," said Ginny, giving him a warm smile. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in. Luna, I told you, everyone was terrified… but August stepped in and took care of it."

"Very useful," Luna said, cocking her head and looking at him. "You're very useful, August. I'm glad we hired you."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I wasn't sure if you would be… I took long enough getting her today."

Ginny took his hand and pulled him the rest of the way inside the church. She didn't hold onto him very long, but her thumb brushed against his palm in a deliberate caress before she dropped it.

"You can hold his hand, I don't care," Luna said. "You already told me he kissed you last night."

"Luna," Ginny said warningly.

Luna gave him an earnest look. "We don't have rules about that kind of thing, but none of us have ever kissed each other. You don't kiss  _all_ the people you work with, do you? That isn't a tradition where you're from, is it?"

Giddy humor and embarrassment waltzed together in his midsection. "It's – no," Harry said firmly. "I don't have any intention of – erm – kissing everyone I work with."

"Neville will be glad to hear it," Ginny put in. The smile she gave him was touched with something a little wicked. "I bet he was worried you were going to kiss him."

Luna eyed him frankly. "I would prefer if you don't kiss me," she told him.

"I won't," Harry promised her.

"For Merlin's sake, Luna," said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

"I promise, I only wanted to kiss Ginny," said Harry.

Both witches looked at him, eyebrows raised. For a brief moment, he wondered if they'd planned this between the two of them. He felt like he'd been played, somehow, that he'd been prodded into saying exactly what he had. Looking from Luna to Ginny, his certainty grew.

"We should get him inside and tell him what's going on," said Ginny, with obvious reluctance.

They went down the hall, and into a small kitchen Harry'd never noticed before. It was sometimes like this. He thought all the secrets about  _The Turnip_  or Ginny was revealed, and then there was something else to explore. He couldn't help how his thoughts went immediately to kissing Ginny; dispelling Luna's odd concerns had brought it straight to the forefront of his mind – not that it had been buried pretty deep. She'd told Luna about it; that made it seem it  _meant_ something to her.

_Why does it have to be so fucking complicated?_

Ginny set a cup of coffee in front of him. "Thank you, Ginny," he said quietly.

"Neville's at the Ministry, trying to get into the Hall of Prophecy," she said bluntly, just as Harry took his first sip of the bitter, nutty liquid.

He spat it back into the cup. "What?!"

"Neville's at the Ministry, trying to get into the Hall of Prophecy," Luna repeated dutifully. "He has a contact who got him through the door – the Unspeakables guard the Department of Mysteries, you know." Ginny and Luna filled him in. Harry'd been right: Ginny was awake and at the turnip church not long after dawn. Neville'd already been there, and between the two of them, they'd concocted a scheme that would get him in the doors.

"It's not like he can take any of the prophecies off the shelves," said Ginny, as though worried he might have been getting his hopes up. "All he can do at this point is see if there are any new ones, or any other prophecies related to Voldemort that we don't know about."

"But it's done," Harry said. There was a note of quiet desperation in his tone that he hoped the two witches couldn't hear. "Voldemort is gone and moldering in a grave." He used Dumbledore's own words. "It's done. He isn't coming back."

"I know," said Ginny. "But we're concerned there may be something new." Ginny was the most fearless women Harry knew, and when she shuddered, Harry felt an answering pulse of fear. Dumbledore had said much the same thing the night before, but it was different coming from Ginny. "It's just better to know about these things. The most frightening part of last night was the aftermath of what happened at the Potters's old cottage. Whoever it is captured a Voldemort, asking about a prophecy. The Harry claimed it wasn't the  _same_ prophecy. The implication there's more at work here is driving me mental."

"So Neville went as soon as he heard back from his contact," said Luna.

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times. "I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier," he said again.

"I expect you needed your rest," said Ginny. Impossibly, given the gravity of what they'd just spoken about, she gave him an impish smile. "You just defeated a Voldemort, after all."

"A teenager," Harry said dismissively.

"Still, I heard it took the last person to defeat a Voldemort a year and a half to recover," Luna said.

All three of them laughed, even though Harry felt the back of his neck burn as he did. Their conversation settled into a pattern. Harry could tell they'd discussed every aspect of Halloween night in Godric's Hollow, but were willing to go over it again just for him. Owls came in and out, dropping off letters. Most of them went to Luna, but a few went to Ginny. To Harry's surprise, an owl dropped a letter in front of him.

"Oh, that's from our friend Calista," Ginny said with a grimace.

Harry groaned. "What's she writing me for?"

"She writes all of us," Luna said. "I use her parchment for compost."

"You don't want to know what Neville does with his," Ginny grinned.

At that moment, a bellow for help, magically amplified, shattered the afternoon. Harry was on his feet before either of the other two, sprinting for the Apparition point. It'd been  _Neville_ yelling like that. Panic surged.

Neville was crumpled to the ground beside a tree, staring straight up. His wand lay a couple inches from his fingers, and his face was pale as the moon. Ginny and Luna threw themselves down next to him. "NEVILLE!" Ginny shouted in his face. Luna was taking apart his robes. Harry scanned everything for blood, for some sort of reason why Neville looked the way he did. Was it the Cruciatus?

And then he saw it. Neville's wand arm twitched, and Harry saw a sickly green mark on his palm. Threads of black radiated outward from it, spelling the word "TRESPASSER". Harry froze for one second, marshalling his thoughts, and stepped forward.

At the same moment, Neville spoke. "Curse on the door. Near ripped me apart, it did."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him the curse was only beginning. The more those black threads spread, the more pain Neville would feel. Harry had seen this before. He'd  _experienced_ it before. A thought jolted him. "The  _Ministry_ did this?" Harry asked, aghast.  _What the fuck were they thinking, sanctioning a curse like that?_

"Yes," Neville said in a tight voice. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his face turned a frightening color.

"Ginny, Luna, step back," he said calmly. He rolled his sleeves up. His wand was straight up in the air when Harry began the incantation Dumbledore taught him.

"What are you doing?" Ginny cried.

Thunder was already rolling overhead. Darkness gathered as the previously grey clouds swelled up in fury and turned black as night.

"Calling lightning," Harry said calmly. It was obvious that Neville had been cursed. He had a feeling they'd protest if he tried to take him to St. Mungo's. Lightning was the only way. Admittedly, it was the most dangerous way, but Harry knew how to do it. He could handle that. "Step away, and make a ward around me and Neville."

Ginny gave him a long look, and the corners of her mouth wobbled. Then she squared her shoulders, nodded, and grabbed Luna's elbow.

Harry moved Neville, who was now taking very shallow breaths and trying not to scream. "Muffliato," Harry whispered. "There, scream all you want," he assured Neville. "The witches won't be able to hear you." He positioned Neville's limbs so he was in the shape of a five-pointed star. Harry put his foot on Neville's cursed arm, just above his elbow, and pressed down. "This is going to hurt," he warned him.

Then Harry lifted his face to the sky, and spoke the incantation again. An eerie silence descended and sparks came off of the ends of his fingers. Dumbledore had used the same powerful magic to save Harry's life after Voldemort had got through with him. Harry'd endured lightning strike after lightning strike as Dumbledore fought the curse ravaging Harry's body.

Hopefully, Neville would need just the one.

Harry shouted the incantation once more, and lightning arced out of the sky, into Harry's hands – impossibly hot, impossibly wild – and Harry slammed it right into the green spot in the palm of Neville's hand. Neville's whole body seized up, and he screamed as the lightning burned the curse out of him. "I'm sorry," Harry said raggedly, still controlling the magic. "I know it hurts." It took every ounce of his control to use the lightning to destroy every trace of the curse.

By the time Harry let the lightning go, staggered back a step, and found Ginny rushing to hold him up, evening had fallen. His ears were ringing with Neville's pain, but Neville himself looked nearly back to full health. He was even already sitting up. The afternoon had fled and it was already dark.

"August," he said in a raspy voice. "You saved my life. I don't even – what  _was_ that?"

"One of the tricks Dumbledore taught me," Harry said. "It's… hard to explain, but I could try to teach you. Any of you."

Ginny squeezed his side. He took that to mean she wanted to learn.

"I didn't even find out anything," Neville said miserably. "All I did was touch the door. My contact had to drag me out – good thing I was already disillusioned."

"Damn," Ginny said.

Luna rushed out of the church with a blanket. "Neville!" she said, sounding rather distraught.

"That was Dark Arts," Harry said, still confused by this. "Neville, you were  _cursed_. The Ministry cursed you?"

"The Ministry is basically the same as it was when Voldemort fell," Ginny said bitterly.

"It's all the more imperative that we get in there," said Neville. He was struggling to sit up. His palm was clear, but for a scorch mark. "They're hiding even more than usual… everything about this feels—"

"Dangerous," Harry and Ginny said together.

Luna sighed. She looked rather older and more present than she usually did. It was she who floated Neville into the air and brought him into the church with her. Harry's thoughts were still whirling from the idea the Ministry regularly used the Dark Arts, and his body was shaking from having used a fairly large amount of magic. Ginny stood next to him, quietly supportive; the warmth radiating from her body steadied him.

Ginny grabbed his hand, and pulled him around to face her. "It was a lucky day when you decided to ask to work for us," she said in a shaky voice. "Thank you for saving Neville's life. He's one of my dearest friends."

"I don't think it would've killed him," Harry told her. "He would've—"

"—needed to go to St. Mungo's, where they'd immediately alert the Ministry," Ginny finished for him. "They'd question him – and they use truly vile methods of questioning – and we could've lost everything. So thank you."

Without giving Harry a chance to reply, she stepped forward, twisted her hands in his robes, and pulled him down so she could kiss him. Blood rushed in his ears as he felt her lips touch his, firmly and without hesitation. Harry made a sound against her mouth, wrapped his arms around her, and lost himself. His hands were in her hair, pulling out the bee sticks that held her messy bun together, and tossing them on the ground. Her long, beautiful hair spilled down her back, and he threaded his fingers through it.

It was her turn to make a sound when he eased his tongue into her mouth. Her hands stroked his sides, his back, and gripped his arms and squeezed tightly.

"Ginny," he murmured. He pressed kisses against her jaw.

"Mm," she murmured, pressing herself impossibly closer against him.

Harry lifted his head at that. Slowly, his wits started coming back to him. He'd been gripping her rather fiercely, and he forced himself to relax his arms. He pressed a kiss to her closed eyelid, another to her forehead, and pulled back.

"I can't," he said raggedly.

Her eyes flickered open, and she looked at him as though he were mental. "Why not?" she asked. "Was last night just a game? I thought—"

"It wasn't a game," he hurried to say. "It's not that I don't want to kiss you."

"I've seen the way you look at me," Ginny said, exasperated. "I would've called you a liar if you tried to say there's nothing between us."

"And there is," he told her. "It's just – it's  _complicated_." He ground his teeth, knowing he couldn't tell her the source of those complications.  _Damn it, Dumbledore_ , he thought. She was annoyed with him, and possibly her feelings were even hurt, though she gave no sign of it. If they were, he wanted to soothe that away. "Listen," he said quietly. "I can't even remember anything feeling as good as kissing you, but there are – complications I can't tell you.  _Yet_."

"Are you two done kissing?"

They both whirled around to find Luna standing quite close, staring at them with glassy blue eyes.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look, and moved away from each other.

"What is it, Luna?" Ginny asked.

"We have a plan," she announced.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"No," Harry said firmly. "No. This is a terrible plan."

All the other turnips were staring at him as though he'd lost his mind. To them, it must look like he had. In order to infiltrate the Ministry – without getting cursed – Neville and Luna suggested taking Polyjuice Potion. "The curse only affects people who  _don't_ have any business in the Hall of Prophecy," Neville said. He'd received a long note from his contact while Harry'd been healing him with lightning, and was now waving it around as though it were the writ of Merlin. "So if we take Polyjuice in order to be someone else – someone who's a subject of a prophecy, we should be able to get in just fine."

"It's a terrible plan," he repeated.

"I know it's not perfect, but I wouldn't call it  _terrible_ ," said Ginny. "I know where he lives, my brother lives with him. I'll just get a bit of his hair—"

"Aren't there any other people you can—"

"I don't know anyone else who's been the subject of a prophecy," said Luna, with an air of great interest. She stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. "Do you?"

"Just Potter," he muttered.

"So I'll Polyjuice into Harry, and—"

" _You_?!" Harry sat up straight and looked at her. "I don't think so. If we have to do this, I'll do it. I'll be Potter."

Neville snorted. "Have you even  _met_ Harry?"

"Ginny knows him the best out of all of us," said Luna.

Harry stared around at them. The moment expanded. A part of him couldn't even argue with the plan. Neville's contact had made it clear what the requirements were to enter the Hall of Prophecy; he'd also made it clear that he expected the Ministry to work over-time to ensure that no one would be able to trespass again. There was a limited window of opportunity for them to go take a peek around and find out what they could. There was a sense of urgency palpable in the air, and none of them thought August Peverell had any good reason to fight what was happening.

 _Damn it_.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "I still think it's not solid," Harry lied. It was more solid than a lot of the other plans he'd carried out throughout his life, including the plan in which he'd agreed to go work for a newspaper in disguise. He pointed at Ginny. "What if he refuses to give you any hair? Or refuses help?"

Ginny snorted. "You act like I'm going to tell him exactly what I'm up to. I'm not. Don't worry, I know exactly how to handle Harry." She smiled at him, slow and wicked. "Are you going to get jealous of him again?"

"I – no," Harry said defensively, as Neville and Luna chortled.

"Afraid she'll sneak a peek at the goods?" Luna asked.

"And like what she sees?" Neville laughed.

Harry hadn't been, but now he  _was_. "I expect Ginny would be professional about it if she transformed into anyone," he said with great dignity, willing it to be true. "I highly doubt she'd take the opportunity to disrespect someone else's privacy."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry went home that night. It said something for his determination that he was able to Apparate to the private section of the backyard where he transformed from August into Harry again. The night air was heavy with precipitation, and thick with the smell of car exhaust and other less pleasant odors of the city. He leaned on a marble bust, half-hidden by ivy. The marble was cold to the touch.

Ginny was going to use the Polyjuice Potion to  _become_ him. A part of him wanted to refuse it, but the others had convinced him of the necessity. They had every reason to worry over a new prophecy. Merlin knew, it churned his guts to think about.

Struck with a thought, he straightened, drew his wand, and muttered the incantation that would bring his stag to him. "This goes to Dumbledore," he ordered it. Normally, the beautiful, silvery stag was a comfort to him. Now it did nothing. What if it didn't work? What if Ginny were cursed the same as Neville? The idea of her in that amount of pain… seeing the sickly green of the curse traveling up her arm. What was the Ministry doing, having a curse like that on one of their doors?

 _Don't get distracted_ , he ordered himself. "If there is a curse that only permits a certain person, or a certain person belonging to a specific group of people, from entering a door… or anything like that… will Polyjuice work?" He sent his stag off.

His heart thumped a quick rhythm in his chest. The fact the Ministry had condoned such a curse on its own property disturbed him. Of course, he knew that the Ministry was corrupt; he'd known that for years. But this baffled him. It drove home to him the very thing Dumbledore had expressed to him last night. The Ministry was dangerous—

The silvery phoenix shimmered into existence before him. It illuminated the marble face of Sirius's rather irate looking ancestor.

"Please explain further," Dumbledore's patronus demanded.

Harry sent a long message then, telling him the plan, and why it was paramount they get in before the Ministry further tightened the security. They had a few days, if that. He half expected that Dumbledore would advise him to be cautious and not try this thing. How many times had Dumbledore urged him to be cautious and not throw himself into danger?

Harry was disappointed by Dumbledore's next words.

"An excellent plan, and I wouldn't expect less of the staff at  _The Turnip_ ," Dumbledore said. "In fact, I have been worrying over this matter since last evening. The Ministry is… rather zealous in its so-called protection of prophecies. This goes back decades. But as the staff at  _The Turnip_ pointed out to you,  _you_ can enter. The Polyjuice will work in this case, but am I correct in assuming you don't wish the Seeker to come to harm while masquerading as you?"

"That's correct," Harry bit off, annoyed. His stag stared at him a moment before disappearing.

"My suggestion is that if you are concerned for her – for the Seeker's – safety, you ought to touch the door at exactly the same moment. This will ease your fear, I believe."

Even the words helped ease it. Yes, Harry could do exactly that. As he breathed out, he imagined that. He'd touch the door at the same time Ginny did. She'd be safe.

"You still agree to our compromise, I trust," Dumbledore said. Even filtered through the silvery patronus, Harry knew it was not a question.

He thought of the kiss Ginny'd given him, and how she hadn't pressed him when he'd told her it was complicated. A month seemed like an awfully long time. He couldn't keep holding her hand; he couldn't kiss her again until he could tell her the truth. A month was a long time.

"Yes, I agree," Harry said, sighing.

It was just then that the back door opened, and globes of light brightened the yard. Ron's shadow was impossibly large as it spilled across the overgrown garden.

"What're you doing out here?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Harry lied quickly. "Dumbledore wanted to check up with me on a few things."

"Yeah, we could see his phoenix," said Ron.

It occurred to Harry then that Ginny was probably not the only Weasley who was going to be angry with him for his subterfuge. He picked his way through the overgrown garden and joined Ron on the back stoop.

"You don't have to be evasive," said Ron. "I know you were talking about all those little kids running around as you in Godric's Hollow."

"Yes!" said Harry, seizing on the excuse.

Ron shook his head. "Merlin, Harry, you don't have to be so secretive all the time."

"You're right," said Harry, feeling a pressure headache beginning.

"You seem happier lately," Ron offered. "I mean, for the most part. Knowing three other Rons were running around on Halloween would throw me for a loop, too."

"Yes, thanks," said Harry. "I  _have_ been happier lately."

Ron headed back upstairs, explaining he'd just come down to grab some tea for Hermione.

Harry went to his room, pulled on his pajamas, and slid into bed. His body was tired enough that he hoped he'd be able to fall right to sleep. Instead, he couldn't get comfortable, and couldn't stop his own thoughts from continually prodding him awake. The conversation with Dumbledore had calmed him. Dumbledore's solution was something Harry could live with.

Now his thoughts strayed back to Neville's and Luna's teasing. Ginny would be in his body; she'd have the potential to see everything. And Harry knew that if the situation were reversed, and he was somehow compelled to spend an hour or two in  _Ginny's_ body, he might not be able to control his own curiosity. It would only take a second of weakness, and all he'd have to do was open her shirt and look down.  _Don't be an idiot,_ he ordered himself fiercely.  _It's August she's been holding hands with and kissing_. Neville and Luna had just been toying with him. Ginny wouldn't have the sexual curiosity about him, Harry, to sneak a peek.

Harry found this very annoying.

It was this odd jealousy that had him sitting up, muttering the spell to light his bedside lamp, and conjuring a full-length mirror. It had not occurred to him to test this; had Dumbledore's transfiguration spell been truly complete? His body had stirred while he thought of Ginny's, and he stroked himself through his pajamas to get it fully hard. Pleasure warmed him, and once it was all the way there, he tugged his pajamas down off his hips.

He'd always been fond of it, of course, but now he scrutinized it.

Then, with a fleeting grimace, he tapped his wand to his wrist and gave August's penis the same scrutiny. To Harry's satisfaction, it was slightly narrower and – Harry tilted his head –  _definitely_ shorter. It deflated as he watched.

Harry got back into bed, feeling a different type of satisfaction than he typically did after handling his erection, and when he once more whispered " _nox_ " and shut his eyes, he did not think sleep would continue to be elusive.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The knock came just as Harry was heading down the stairs to scrounge for breakfast. The entryway was lit only by two hovering candlesticks; with a wave of his wand, and a mutter under his breath, he lit the rest. Dodging Ron's Knight Bus robes and a pair of old work boots, he made for the door, and feeling a pulse of anticipation just before he opened it. For once, it was a pleasant hum, not instincts honed by years of having people trying to kill him, and when he opened it to find Ginny standing there on the front stoop, he wasn't at all surprised.

They had their deadline, after all. She'd need his hair in just a few hours.

It was yet another dreary day in London, but she brought sunlight and warmth with her when she smiled at him and stepped inside.

"Hi, Harry," she said.

"Hi, Ginny," he said. There was a brief moment when neither one moved. The anticipatory feeling only grew.  _Stop it_ , he scolded himself, and broke the eye contact. "I was just about to find something for breakfast," he said. "Want to join me?"

"Sure," she said agreeably, as though she had all the time in the world. But he knew she was probably anxious to get a bit of his hair and get back to the turnip church immediately.

Harry couldn't help but wonder how she'd do it. If she'd use some pretext to run her fingers through his hair.

Distracted, Harry nearly walked straight into the wall instead of through the open arch to the kitchen.

"How's work?" Harry asked her. Since it was only polite, Harry took her cloak. His fingertips brushed the tops of her arms.

"Aggravating," said Ginny.

There weren't many options for breakfast food in the ice box: just eggs and sausage. "Any preference on breakfast?" Harry asked her.

"Just that Hermione didn't make it," Ginny said easily. "Is she home today?"

"No, they left early," said Harry. It was quite fortunate for him that Ron was not there to butt in and take his irritating, overly protective stance. He couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face. He broke eggs in a bowl, diced onions and tomatoes, and used his wand to make omelets out of all the ingredients. Instead of sitting idly, Ginny got down plates and cups. As he heated the sausage, she filled the cups with pumpkin juice.

They took their meal to the table.

"I'm surprised I found you at home," said Ginny. "Ron and Hermione say you're hardly ever here anymore."

"I've got stuff I've been working on," said Harry.

There was an awkward little silence as Harry grew acutely aware of the time. Wasn't she anxious to be off? He was a little surprised she hadn't stunned him immediately.

Halfway through the meal, Ginny surprised him with one of her work stories. "You have to understand that kneazles are  _smart_ , so when they want something, they can usually figure out a way to get it. Plus, they've sort of formed a pack over there, and they'll work together to meet some sort of goal." She took another bite and a swallow of pumpkin juice. "So yesterday they decided they wanted the pie Lolly made — don't ask me why, as far as Lolly knows, they've never had pie before."

Harry leaned forward, despite his awareness of passing time, and grinned. "But was it a  _good_ pie?"

"I'm told it's the best," said Ginny. She scooped up another forkful of eggs and added: "But none of the humans got a chance to eat it. A couple of the kittens caused a distraction by pretending to freak out over a mirror. They were attacking themselves in it, like they haven't seen a mirror every damn day of their lives. Mama kneazle waltzed into the kitchen, grabbed the pie, and brought it upstairs."

Harry laughed. There was another one of their increasingly long moments of eye contact. Her brown eyes reflected some of the light. They were shiny...  _No, luminous_ , Harry thought.

"You think it's funny, but nine kneazles found out they're allergic to tangleberries. It wasn't pretty."

"Oh, uh oh," said Harry. "Allergic?"

"Ghastly allergic," confirmed Ginny. "There were tears and pleas for Merlin. And the kneazles were even worse."

Harry snorted. He drained the rest of his pumpkin juice as Ginny described the chaos that ensued. It was such a good story... was she making it up on the spot, or had she planned it? Why was she sitting her, entertaining him, while he knew how urgently she felt about getting to the Ministry?

"We finally had to give them a bath," Ginny said with a grimace, jolting him from his darker thoughts.

Harry figured kneazles were like most cats and hated baths. "They hated it, I assume?"

"Oh no, they love baths. They love them too much."

And Harry could see it exactly how she described: kneazles paddling around a giant bathtub, batting soap dispensers into the water, climbing the curtains and using the curtain rod as a diving board. And Ginny… completely soaked, standing there in dripping, clinging robes. He sat back, enjoying that thought. Had the water of her imagination soaked through all the way to her lingerie? Surely it had, he though, seeing the mischief in her expression.

"One of the babies ended up still having a massive chunk of—"

"No, please don't tell me what it was," Harry begged her.

Her smile was sly, and she took her time eating her last bit of sausage. "Well, it was a massive chunk of  _Harry-doesn't-want-to-know-what_ ," she said. "We ended up having to cut it out. The little bugger fought it like you wouldn't believe."

He imagined a baby kneazle ripping Ginny's robes to shreds.

"It was all very dramatic," said Ginny. "The whole pack was acting like I was about to murder the poor little baby."

To his surprise and pleasure, she leaned forward and threaded her fingers through the ends of his hair and tugged on it. "You know, Harry, you could use a haircut, too."

 _Aha_.

He'd nearly forgotten the reason why she was here in the enjoyment of listening to her story.

Of course, Harry let her talk him into having a haircut.

It was unlike any other haircut he'd ever had – though, truth be told, it'd been quite some time since he'd bothered. First, Ginny had him sit back, conjured a basin, and set it behind him. Warm water – not too hot, not too cold – flowed. She conjured something else, and Harry breathed in the flowery scent he associated with her.

"Am I going to smell like you, then?" he murmured. The moments she'd started touching him, it became difficult to remember that they had to infiltrate the Ministry today. It no longer bothered him that she was taking her time. He liked it. They didn't have to be at the turnip church until noon, after all.

Her fingers massaged the shampoo into his scalp. "Mm," she said. "Does that bother you? I know it's not very masculine."

"I like it," said Harry. In fact, he felt very neutral about smelling flowery, but he did very much like the feel of her hands on his head, in his hair. He enjoyed it so much that he couldn't help where his thoughts drifted: back to her bathing a pack of imaginary kneazles, dressed only in the filmy lingerie he knew she wore. The more she touched him, the more his body stirred. He shifted, suddenly restless.

"Sorry," she said in a low voice. "Sensitive head?"

"Uh – yes," said Harry.

"I'll be gentler," she promised.

Harry leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and blocked out every thought except how good it felt to have her fingers in his hair. His arousal didn't disappear, but held steady, spreading warmth and desire through his body. It was very easy to remember exactly how it had felt to hold her and kiss her. All Harry had to do was close his eyes, and there it was.

"You've seemed happier lately," Ginny ventured, right before another warm jet of water washed the shampoo away.

"I have been," said Harry.

"Well, I can tell," said Ginny. "How short can I cut it?"

Harry shrugged. "Your choice, I guess," he said, knowing she only really needed a few clippings. In reply, she cut off a six inch segment to the side of his head, leaving his ear bare.

"I liked it best how you had it at Hogwarts," Ginny said, satisfied.

"So how come you're happier lately?" Ginny asked. "Ron and Hermione say you're hardly ever home."

Harry wasn't any busier than she was, but she was better at not spending her leisure time either in her room or at Hogwarts. It was admirable, the way she could balance everything. Must be the practice.

"I told them I bet you're dating," said Ginny.

This jolted him. "I – what—"

She pressed down on his shoulders. "Don't move, I don't want to cut you," she ordered. "It's not outside the realm of possibility, the dating, I mean," she said. More swathes of hair fell to the ground. "People go out on dates. I went out on a date just Halloween."

Harry forced himself not to blink. "I… that's nice."

"It was nice," said Ginny.

Harry was once again forced to acknowledge that the burning sensation in his gut was jealousy… of himself. It was a highly unpleasant sensation, and he would not recommend it. "Is he your type then, this bloke?" he heard himself ask, even though he and Ginny had  _never_ discussed such a thing.

"You know, I didn't think so," Ginny said thoughtfully. "At least, physically, he isn't at all my type. But he has all the inner qualities I certainly like."

"Not a fan of redheads?" Harry joked.

"Mm," said Ginny.

Harry's ears stung, hoping she didn't question how he'd known her date had red hair.

"You aren't rushing into anything, are you?" he asked her. "You shouldn't, you know."

"And why is that?" There was an edge in her voice he immediately wanted to smooth over.

"I don't know," he said. It bothered him when she took her hands off his head. "Maybe I'm just jealous," he said, trying to disguise the truth as a joke. It worked, though, and she chuckled a little and resumed her ministrations.

"How come you don't date, Harry?" she asked.

Harry sighed. She moved around to his front and moved in between his legs. He breathed in, appreciating the angle more than he really ought to. The front of her robes was tight enough to hint at her curves. Pleasure hummed through him at the sight. There was one particularly intriguing wrinkle just over—

"Kneazle got your tongue?" Ginny asked, amused.

There were a lot of different reasons. Some of them had evolved over the years, others had gone away. But there was one in particular that had stuck with him. This one he admitted to Ginny, after reluctantly pulling his eyes away from that wrinkle. "You know I – it's never been safe to be near me," Harry said. She stopped her work and gazed down at him. "It just always seemed too dangerous."

"I know you feel the same way about your friends, my family, and the rest of the Order," Ginny pointed out. There was something in her eyes that perplexed him, intrigued him. Then she looked away and resumed her work. Harry scratched at his leg, brushing the back of his hand up against her thigh. It was a miracle he hadn't started sweating.

"Whoever I dated would have to be pretty special," he told her. He shifted his legs until he was they were pressed up against hers. "Not because I'm any sort of catch," he said hastily. "It's not that. It's just a lot to ask someone… to put up with the press jabbing at me twice a month… the potential for danger. That's a lot to ask someone."

The warmth between them grew hotter.

Fingers lightly stroked his head. Ginny didn't say anything, just looked at him.

"Even if I did find someone, she'd probably think someone else was a safer bet," he said. Suddenly, everything he'd been feeling the last few days was too much. The irrational jealousy he felt regarding his own self. The need to tell her everything. The desire to kiss her as Harry, and wanting her to kiss him, knowing exactly who she was kissing. The worry he felt that she could be cursed even if he  _did_ put his hand on the door at exactly the same instant she did. It all scrambled together and broke apart.

Harry could no longer stand it.

She was motionless, and he brought his hands up to stroke her back. Never once did he look away from her. He watched her eyes widen, and her lips part. He stroked her sides with his thumbs.

Then he closed his eyes, marshalling his thoughts, prepared to tell her everything.

"Ginny, I—"

But she was talking over him.

"Harry," she said sharply. His eyes flew open. Her brows were drawn together and she appeared to vibrate slightly with indignation. "Were you about to kiss me? I know you said yesterday that things were complicated, but this is one complication we  _don't_  need: you thinking I'd kiss two different men. Just a day apart! Honestly, Harry!"


	14. Chapter 14

Harry's hands dropped to his sides, and he gaped at her.

" _What_ did you say?" Suddenly, he did not want to be sitting while she stood. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet.  _She knows?!_ That thought sped through his mind until it was all he could focus on. Everything else slipped away.

Ginny swore. "Damn it, I didn't want to do this right now," she said, sounding very cross. She was glaring up at him.

"But—"

"The kneazle is off the tree now, though," said Ginny.

Harry's stomach was a ball of stress. "I—"

"I just wish this hadn't happened right before we have to go to the  _fucking Ministry_ ," she said savagely. She yanked on her hair, then eyed him. "We'll talk about this later—"

" _Later?_ But—"

"—you should bring your Cloak, it'd be a lot safer—"

"My Cloak?" Harry asked stupidly.

"Your  _invisibility cloak_ ," she said impatiently. Her cheeks were red and there was a dangerous glint in her eyes. Harry would not be surprised if steam began pouring out of her ears. Had he ever seen her this angry? Her words began to penetrate. If she wanted him to fetch his invisibility cloak, did that mean she still wanted him to go with her to the Ministry?

"I'm still going?" he asked her with extreme caution.

"I'm angry, not stupid," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest and looking fierce. "Please go get it."

Harry, thoughts churning, left her in the kitchen and went to his room. He'd stuffed his cloak in an old wardrobe he used for everything that couldn't be neatly categorized and organized. He pushed back a stack of Defense Against the Dark Arts books he'd collected over the years, and withdrew the silvery cloak.  _How did she found out? How'd I give it away?_

He stuffed the cloak in the pocket of his robes and strode out of his room.

_Did she already tell the others?_

He threw himself down the stairs three at a time.

_She still wants me to go to the Ministry with her, that's a good sign!_

By the time he was almost to the kitchen, he was fully prepared to say what he should have the moment she'd revealed she knew about his deception. The apology surged upward. Harry slipped down one more step, launched himself into the kitchen, and said: "Ginny, I'm so, so sorry. I—"

But his words cut off. The kitchen was empty. His chest tightened, and he took three quick breaths. She'd cleaned up his hair and their dishes, but she was nowhere to be seen. Hope had him climbing back to the first floor, heading out the back door, and Apparating to the turnip church. He paused for a moment, gathering himself. The idea that he was here as himself, as Harry, not August, made his skin crawl with nerves.

He went inside.

"Oh, hi, August," said Luna. She glanced up at him, and then back down on the project she was working on.

Harry froze with his foot in the air. He set it down with a dull thump when she started humming. "Hi, Luna," he said finally. "Is, uh. Is Ginny, uh?"

"She's in her office," said Luna. She looked up at him again, and did a double take. "Great Merlin's stones," she said, eyes growing round. "What did she do to your  _hair_?"

Harry was thrown by this. He'd been expecting her to react to the fact that he was  _Harry_. Not that this was something he wanted; in fact, he was quite uncomfortable, and sick about the anger he'd seen on Ginny's face. Luna, however, seemed only interested in his hair cut.

"Erm… she cut it?" Harry said tentatively.

Luna tilted her head. "Did she use her teeth?"

"No…"

"Well, I suppose if you wanted it that way, that's what matters," said Luna.

Harry gestured in the direction of Ginny's office. "I'm, uh, going to go find Ginny. We've got to go to the Ministry, you know."

Luna nodded. "I know."

He backed away from here, eyeing her as he would a strange magical creature. She hunched over her project, pale hair spilling over the table. He couldn't help but notice she was only wearing one shoe.  _Does she just not notice, or…?_

For the first time since he'd started working for  _The Turnip_ , Ginny's office door was closed. His guilt came back full force as he stared at the wood. A door was nothing. He could use magic to open it; there were at least ten different spells he could use. He could also use his foot to force it open. And yet forcing her door open would not solve the problem of why she was angry with him in the first place.

Harry allowed himself a moment to rest his head against the solid wood barrier that separated him from Ginny. It was unbelievable to him that less than half an hour ago, they'd been together in his kitchen. There'd been a warmth between them – he  _knew_ she felt it too. Now it was gone, and he wished he knew the words to say that would take down the barrier between them.

"I know you're out there," she said. Muffled though it was, he could tell she was still greatly irritated with him.

"Erm, can I come in?" Harry asked.

The door opened silently.

As always, Ginny's office was a busy place. Papers shuffled themselves on her desk. An owl sat on a perch in the corner, and she had a cauldron with a noxious looking potion on her desk.

"Is that Polyjuice?" Harry asked.

"Why would we need Polyjuice, Harry?" she asked pointedly.

"Well… we don't," Harry said. "Listen, I—"

"Harry." She leaned forward, and spread her hands on the desk in front of her. "I can't talk about this right now. We have to focus on what we have to do. We  _have_ to go to the Ministry. We have to go almost  _right_ now. It'll have to wait. Please?"

Harry studied her. Her hair was neatly pinned, her eyes were steady on his, and if he didn't know better, he would claim she was perfectly calm. A month or two ago, he wouldn't have noticed the way her fingers shook slightly, and the tightness around the corners of her mouth. But he'd kissed that mouth. He knew her. There was tension coiled inside her, and hurt lurked in those lovely eyes of hers.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. He hated knowing he'd hurt her.

"All right, Ginny," he said quietly. "We'll go to the Ministry. I have the Cloak. What's your plan?"


	15. Chapter 15

The London street bustled with people and teamed with cars. Harry – once more disguised as August Peverell – strolled along. He passed by several different huge department stores, listened to the squeal of tires and incomprehensible shouts of angry drivers, the thump of rap music, and teenagers swearing at each other and laughing. All of this made it difficult to tell if Ginny was still behind him. She'd decided to wear his Cloak while he went into the Ministry as an anonymous, non-descript visitor.

"Hey, mister, whatchoo wearin' that for?" A teenager, made brave by being surrounded by his friends, started following Harry, who kept his eyes straight forward.

"You going somewhere swank?"

"In outer space?"

All of the teenagers were walking in step with him now, laughing, and heckling him about the robes he wore. Harry ignored them, continuing on. Now he felt a prickle of unease. It was unlike Ginny to allow these fools to continue; what if he really  _had_ lost her somewhere behind him? There were any number of things that could have happened to her, even wearing the Cloak.

"We're talkin' to you, mister," the first one said. His voice was sodden with mean laughter. Harry continued to walk forward. He was nearly to the smaller street on which the Ministry was located, unbeknownst to Muggles like this idiot. Another knot started to form in his belly when they started poking him. Harry didn't care about the teenagers. But he knew Ginny, knew that she normally would've reacted to something like this.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, wondering if he'd lost her totally, he looked at the troublemakers. They looked so young but acted so tough. They were Muggles… they'd never seen bodies after Death Eaters were done with them; hadn't looked into the face of Voldemort; they had no idea the danger and magic that surrounded them. It was foolish for him to assume that ignorance would keep him safe. Should he try something like this with Lucius Malfoy, or any of the other Death Eaters that the Ministry had failed to send to Azkaban? He'd be dead.

Slowly, the smile slipped off the trouble-maker's face. Fear flickered over it.

"Let's go," he muttered to his friends.

"Tosser!" they shouted after Harry, resentful that their leader had backed off a good sport.

When he turned down the smaller street, he thought he felt an unnatural stir of air at his back. "Ginny?" he whispered.

No answer.

 _You have to put it aside_ , he ordered himself.  _She'd not want you to fuck up what we're doing just because of personal things_. But Merlin, did Harry hate that they now all of a sudden had to go to the Ministry.  _Focus on the Ministry. Focus on the Ministry_.

By the time he reached the phone booth that would allow them entry into the Ministry, he was nearly focused. He spared one thought that it really hadn't been all that long ago that he and Ginny were sending the Ministry a present in the form of Garvey Bellingthwaite, who'd been terrorizing Muggle department stores all over London. That was the first time they'd  _really_ worked together.

He shoved that thought away, entered the booth, and punched in the numbers.

As he did, he felt another body, smaller and slimmer than his, brush up against him.

His shoulders relaxed.

A second later, the booth whooshed them down into the Ministry. Harry was as cool as he could be, giving the security wizard the name 'Gus Polkiss', and handing over his wand to him. Albus Dumbledore would not perform shoddy transfiguration work: there was no flicker of concern or interest on the other wizard's face when he recorded false details of Harry's wand. Apparently Gus Polkiss – Ginny'd insisted he use a fake name instead of his more established fake name – carried a swishy, 10 ½ inch wand made of yew.

For some inexplicable reason, the memory of the night before came to him: he'd compared other, more personal wands. Dumbledore might've made August Peverell's magic wand longer, but not his—

"Here you are, sir," said the wizard. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks," Harry said.

It was late afternoon at the Ministry. There were still crowds of people, but it was not the pressing throng Harry was used to, for which he was grateful. He had no reason to suspect Ginny had not followed him, but his nerves grew nevertheless. What if someone bumped into her and wondered why they'd run into something invisible?

He paused once, trying to get his bearings. The Magic is Might statue loomed in front of him, and a tapestry of the current Minister of Magic hung right beside it. It was rather foreboding, that. 'Magic is Might' had come from the days that Voldemort had led the Ministry through his puppet. It seemed Minister Crouch had the same philosophies as Voldemort. A chill went up his spine.

His nerves followed them into the elevator, and grew when he saw that despite the Ministry was not  _quite_ as crowded as he was used to, it was still rather busy.

Once again, he felt her brush up against his back. He took advantage of that, and backed all the way to the wall of the elevator. He leaned his shoulders up against the wall, and spread his arms in a way that would most likely seem cocky and rude, but was really him trying to protect Ginny from being trampled or discovered.

The elevator seemed to stop at every floor and let more people in.

On one floor, an unnatural chill descended over all of them.  _Dementors_ , Harry thought, suppressing a shudder. In fact, everyone who entered from that floor – he checked, and it was the thirteenth – looked grim and tired.

"I hate it when they decide to up security," one wizard muttered.

"It's barbaric," his companion hissed. "They ought to just throw him in Azkaban. We shouldn't have to suffer just because Shacklebolt's a traitor."

"Too right you are," the first wizard said.

Harry didn't know who Shacklebolt was, but he filed the information away for later. The use of dementors had always seemed like one of the more pressing examples of the corruption in the Ministry. Why would such dark creatures be used by anyone, let alone the people who were supposedly on the right side? His hopes had been too high, Harry realized. He'd thought that once Voldemort was gone, things would get better. But he couldn't help but think that in some ways, Bartemius Crouch Sr. was even more ruthless than Voldemort's puppet Minister, Pius Thicknesse, had been.

More people entered from the eleventh floor.

"—sick to  _death_ of studying house-elves—"

"—if I have to see Bertha Jorkins  _one more time_ this week, I'm going to—"

"It's all this talk of—"

Harry gave up trying to follow any of the conversations. He stayed back against the wall, protecting Ginny, ignoring the newcomers entering from the floor that housed the new premises of  _The Daily Prophet_ , and tried to remain unnoticed. It was a relief, when they got off on the second floor.

August Peverell's pretext for visiting was to deliver a rubber ball to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Ginny'd coated the ball she'd stolen from some Muggle children with the noxious looking potion that had been on her desk. "It won't be too unusual for them," Ginny told him. "They get stuff like this all the time, Dad tells me."

But the further Harry strode down the hall, the more it seemed like hardly anyone ever came out this way at all. He knew that the Magical Maintenance crew controlled what kind of weather the windows revealed. It was sunny in the front offices, but the further they got down the hall, the bleaker it got. Anger stirred in his gut.

He knocked on the door. "Here to see Perkins," he said loudly.

The door opened. The small window revealed a storm raging outside. Inside, there were three globes of light bobbing in the air. It clearly didn't add enough light. Somehow, he didn't think it was due to Arthur's and Perkins's magical incompetence. He was willing to bet the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had decided to limit how many globes of light the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office were allowed to use.

"Come in," said a wispy-haired wizard. His mustache looked like two handlebars and his voice was cheerful.

"Had a delivery for you," said Harry. He pulled the rubber ball out of his pocket. It was wrapped in a handkerchief. "My aunt found it in the street. It's got some sort of potion on it. We didn't think it was very safe." Ginny'd forced him to practice these lines ten times.

"Thank you!" said Perkins.

Harry found himself very relieved that Arthur was not in the office today. "You're welcome," he said agreeably. "We just didn't want some Muggle to touch it and get hurt. Have a nice day, sir."

With that, he backed out of the office.

The door to the closet Ginny'd told him about was slightly ajar. Harry casually slipped inside and shut it behind him. Wordlessly, he waved his wands, setting a few precautionary wards that were not strong enough to catch the Ministry's attention. At last, he said: "Muffliato."

This was the tricky part. They had to get into the Ministry during normal working hours, unless they wanted to give people cause for alarm. But they'd had to find somewhere to stay until it was quiet enough that they could sneak down to the Department of Mysteries. Ginny'd thought of everything; Harry just had to follow her plan.

He looked around to where he thought she might be. It was hard to tell, given that she was under his Cloak, and it was dark inside the closet. "Ginny," he said quietly. "I know you're angry, but I'm so sorry." She didn't make a sound, but she didn't try to stop him, either. "I've been wanting to tell you for a while… in fact, I was  _going_ to tell you, but Dumbledore asked me to wait just one more month. I – he's saved my life so many times, Ginny. I can't just—"

A tingle went up and down his spine as his wards fell apart. Harry was on his feet, heart racing, wand at the ready when the door opened, letting weak light into the closet, and then closed again.

"I found something," said Ginny, who had apparently not been in the closet with him this entire time. "I know that wasn't part of the plan, but when the trained hit wizards mentioned Shacklebolt, I had to go looking for his record."

"You – what?" said Harry.

"I went and copied his file," she said, still breathless and triumphant.

Harry ignored this. "You were supposed to stick with me," he hissed.

There was a dangerous sort of silence. "I never said that," she said coolly.

"I thought it was implied," he said.

"I never implied that I intended to shadow your every footstep," she told him, impatient.

It was vastly irritating to have an exchange such as this when he could not see the look on her face. "The Cloak doesn't protect you from everything," he said. "If something had happened, how would I have found you?" His stomach squeezed.

"I have a Dark Detector in my pocket, you know that," she said. "All I did was open a cabinet and use a spell to make a copy of a file." She heaved out a breath. "But I promise from now on I'll stick close to you."

"Did you make any other excursions?" he demanded.

"The only time I was more than five feet away from you was when I got this," said Ginny. "Oh – and when those idiots were heckling you. I deflated all the tires on their car."

Some of his nerves dissipated. "All right – I… all right," he said. Then, in an effort to make peace, he asked her: "So what's with Shacklebolt? I know I've heard that name before."

"He was with Alastor Moody when he disappeared," Ginny said simply.

His eyes widened as that sunk in. Alastor Moody had been part of the Order of the Phoenix from before Harry was even born. Dumbledore swore up and down that there was no way Moody would go dark. And yet… it was Moody's actions that had led to the events of Sirius getting killed.  _He betrayed us_ , the thought ghosted across Harry's mind. No matter how much Dumbledore swore it couldn't be true, the facts were this: Moody had been the only one to know where Sirius was and what he was doing that night. He'd led Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange to where Sirius was: they'd ambushed him, and Sirius was dead.

And then he'd disappeared a few days later.

"How do you know this Shacklebolt was with him?" Harry asked.

"Neville's heard rumors about it," said Ginny. "You know Frank and Alice Longbottom were Aurors… Neville started corresponding with all their old friends years ago."

Merlin, he could not help but admire how smart they were.

"Are we still after the Hall of Prophecy?" Harry asked, uncertain. It might be that Ginny decided finding out whatever she could about this Shacklebolt was more important than chasing after something that might have been just cobwebs. His instincts clamored at him. If there was one thing he'd learned in life, it was not to discount divination. It was worth pursuing, and he hoped he could persuade Ginny—

"Yes, definitely," she said emphatically.

There was another silence. The moments pulsed by, and it occurred to Harry that his apology had gone unheard. He marshalled his thoughts, wanting to make it slightly more eloquent this time. She'd appreciate that; Merlin knew, she'd built her secret career on having a way with words.

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and—

" _August_ wouldn't have said a damn thing if I'd broken into three hundred cabinets," she said pointedly.

This incensed Harry, and his unspoken apology was forgotten. "That's not true."

"Oh, he'd think about it, but he wouldn't have said it," said Ginny.

Harry gritted his teeth, because it was true. As August, he'd been far more cautious in how he'd related to her. He also wouldn't have said anything because Ginny wouldn't have had Harry's Cloak, which was rather more complicated than any other invisibility cloak. If she'd been stunned – or worse – under that Cloak, Harry wouldn't have been able to find her. It was risky and precarious.

"I guess  _August_ would've been more impressed than worried," Harry said. "I mean – sneaking into a cabinet belong to Department of Magical Law Enforcement – but  _August_ still would've wanted to know you were doing it."

She was ready with a counter. " _August_ was fairly good at making sure we stayed close to each other."

It was just then that Harry's watch chimed. Their argument had taken more time than he thought; they'd entered the half hour period that Neville's source claimed was the best time of day to creep around the Ministry undisturbed. Witches and wizards were leaving for the day and security was changing.

"Let's go," said Ginny.

She pulled up the Cloak, and Harry took his place under it. Her words rattled about uncomfortably in his brain, despite the dangerous task they were about to undertake. He remembered exactly how August had been at Godric's Hollow, and he deserved to be censured for that. Harry was careful to give her as much space as the Cloak would allow.

It took some figuring out, but as they walked down the long hall leading back to the elevator, they managed to find a comfortable pattern of steps for both of them. Long before they passed the now-empty desks, except for a few harried-looking clerks, they were walking in the same rhythm. Two wizards, speaking to each other in low, grim tones waited. When the elevator arrived, they hurried inside behind them.

"—took two more of my people," the taller one said.

The shorter, rounder one shook his head. "They took five from me last month. I asked the Head – what'm I supposed to do? He told me in no uncertain terms to just get it done."

Ginny's hair tickled his neck, and Harry lost track of the conversation.

When they exited at the Atrium, no one else got on, to Harry's relief.

Harry waited until the door closed, then said, "Department of Mysteries."

The doors opened into an area that reminded him of the dungeons in which he had spent seven years learning Potions. It had the same feel, like they were deep underground. Moisture gathered on the walls and it smelled like a cave. His hand twitched, and he had to force himself not to grasp Ginny's. Eerie blue flames flickered from torches spaced out far enough from one another that they did not do a very good at lighting the place.

At the end of the hall was a simple door.

Ginny was just reaching out to open it when it swung open. They surged to the side, narrowly avoiding being tripped over by two Unspeakables.

"—almost figured it out," said one in a sepulchral whisper. "They'll be pleased."

"Don't count on it," the other said. "You know how  _they_ are."

Harry and Ginny drifted through the open door. Harry held his breath. The closer they drew to the Hall of Prophecy, the more his heart started to thump. Though he had never been here before, Dumbledore had described it to him. It was a vast room, filled with orbs, one of which had had utmost significance in his life.

But this wasn't that room. Not yet.

Instead, it was a circular area, with identical doors leading in many directions.

"One, two, three, four, there," Ginny muttered beside him. A jet of blue light arced from her wand and splattered against a door ahead of them – just as the room began to spin. Harry's first, wild thought was that her spell had gone wrong and it'd affected his brain – a moment later, he realized it was the room.

Once it was done, Harry realized the door she'd marked still had blue splattered on it. "Thank Merlin you're the smart one," Harry said fervently.

"Maybe," Ginny said, uncertain. "I might've miscounted…"

Indeed, once Harry touched the door and it opened, they both took a step back at the sight. Immediately sickened, Harry took in a short breath. He couldn't see much of the room in front of him, but… there was a house elf suspended in midair. For one horrible moment, he thought it was Dobby, but no… this one was female, and wearing a neat tea cozy. There was filmy magic surrounding her, lighting up her knobs and joints. There was a cloud around her head; it pulsed with magic. Tendrils of it reached through her skull, where Harry knew it was piercing her brain.

Ginny swore beside him.

Without even thinking about it, he made to raise his wand—

But Ginny still him before he'd so much as twitched. " _We can't!_ "

All he could see through a haze of red was that the house elf was  _crying_. Tears dripped steadily out of her eyes. Whatever it was they were doing was hurting her.  _Ginny's right, Ginny must be right_ , he convinced himself. His jaw hurt from clenching back angry words – not at Ginny, but at whatever the Ministry thought it was doing, torturing a house elf.

"We can't," she said again as the door closed. There was pain in her voice.

"You're right," he said finally. "I'm sorry, I—"

"I know," she said. "Merlin, I – I wish, but—"

She was being very generous. Panic rose to clutch at his midsection. It was after hours, but there were still all sorts of witches and wizards around. He'd very nearly blown their cover. Worse, he still wanted to. He wanted to battle it out. Her hand was still on his arm, as though she knew there was a part of him that still needed to be held back. Harry focused on that warmth and gradually eased his stance.

The room was spinning again.

"I miscounted," Ginny was saying. "I  _think_ I counted one less than I needed to. Should we try…?" She took her hand off his arm, and gestured toward the room to the right of the door with the blue mark.

"Yes, let's try it," Harry said in a low voice.

This time, she was right. Harry's palm tingled when he touched the door. It was hot to the touch. There was a subtle hiss, and the door opened.

They stepped forward and through the door and into the Hall of Prophecy at exactly the same moment. Harry'd been told by Dumbledore that it was large; it was still larger than he expected. The lights were dim and flickered oddly. His heart thumped when he realized that the hundreds and hundreds of orbs gave off their own light.

"I think that's the older section, we'll want something newer," Ginny muttered.

Harry shuffled after her when she turned to the right. "Dumbledore said not all of these were fulfilled," he murmured. His own had been, in a particularly painful way, but he pushed that aside. They skirted around a stone basin that held a strange and luminous liquid. Harry looked at it, reminded of the house elf's teary eyes.  _Forget it for now_ , he ordered himself. Ginny pulled ahead far enough that the Cloak forced his glasses to dig into his cheeks.

"Ah, here are the newer ones," she said. "Remember, all we need to do is look at them long enough. Luna will take our memories—"

"And we can view them later, yes," Harry said. When Ginny'd told him that in her office, he'd been impressed. They stood side by side, looking intently at the shelves… Harry read the markings on the higher orbs. Nothing in particular caught his eye… they shuffled down this section. The further on they went, the darker and colder it got. By the time they turned around a corner, Ginny was shaking.

He was reading rapidly now, hardly even paying attention to what he saw, wanting to get through this and out of here. They were pressed closer together now. Harry felt a sudden depression at seeing all these orbs… surely there had been other people who'd been marked with a dark sort of destiny, whether they asked for it or no. Chilled, he continued on, but his thoughts were now tangled in the prophecy that Sybill Trelawney had made about him and Voldemort. She'd spoken it months before his parents died.

Harry took an awkward step and his hand brushed up against the side of Ginny's hip.

"Sorry," he muttered.

" _August_ wouldn't have apologized," she said coolly. "He would've done it on purpose."

Harry winced at the reminder. He was still scanning the shelves but his thoughts sunk into the gloom of having made so many mistakes with Ginny. She was not shy about either comparing him to August and finding him wanting, or reminding him of the less than honorable ways he'd behaved with her. Suddenly, the way forward seemed hopeless. Her disappointment that he wasn't the unencumbered August Peverell was very clear. There was no way she was going to get over that. Why should she?

Something struck him, then.

"Oh, shit, Ginny!" Harry said hoarsely. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it in his. "Dementors!"

All of his senses were on the alert. He  _knew_ they were there, and so he wasn't surprised when the last of the lights went out and they were plunged into a darkness only mitigated by the orbs – they looked like thousands of tiny stars.

Ginny was swearing. "I should've known – I could feel—"

Not trying for stealth any longer, they ran away from the chill and toward the door. They flew around the corner—

A dark shape swooped down right at their heads.

They dodged it. "REMEMBER WE CAN'T USE THE CHARM!" Ginny shouted.

"I know, I know!" cried Harry.

The dementor swooped at them again.

Harry dove under it, barely managed to keep his feet, and pulled Ginny further back the way they'd come. A rattling, hissing sound came from all around them. The cool, rational part of his brain told him there were more than three… more than five… and all of them were converging around the intruders.

Ginny yanked him up another, blessedly empty row. Harry's foot caught on the shelf and he stumbled into it. It teetered, and Ginny swore again when it finally fell toward them. They ducked at the same moment, running as fast as they could, huddling over like that.

"I – have – a portkey," she wheezed.

The dementors hissed and swooped around them.

"Activate it!" Harry cried.

"They'll know we're here," said Ginny. All around them, orbs were falling, shattering at their feet. The shelf had started a domino effect; other shelves were toppling into each other. For a moment, Harry's eyes fixed on the destruction.

"They already know we're here," he said.

They were at the back of the room now, where a curious dais stood. One orb stood atop a crystal pillar. Some instinct had Harry straining toward it. He was out from under the Cloak, moving forward, when Ginny shrieked: "IT'S RIGHT ABOVE YOU!"

The moment crystallized. Why didn't she use her own patronus? Harry thought wildly.

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ Harry shouted, no longer worried about the Ministry finding out they were there. They already knew.

His patronus burst out of tip of his wand. Its light illuminated the entire room, throwing the dementors back. Harry looked back on the orb sitting on the crystal pillar, and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dementors. He let his eyes linger on it while he tried to remember to breathe, then he sprinted back to where he'd left Ginny. He miscalculated and slammed into her, knocking them both to the ground.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. But she was wriggling, and throwing the Cloak over him.

There was the sound of the door crashing open, and people shouting.

Ginny grabbed his hand, and forced it onto a small, square object. Just as she did so, it glowed blue.

The portkey jerked them away…

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

…and slammed them to the unyielding wood floor of the church.

It was Ginny's soft moan of pain that cut through Harry's reeling senses. He scrambled off of her, wrestled with the folds of the Cloak, and grimaced when he saw a deep gash across Ginny's cheek.

"Ouch," he said.

"It's okay, it—"

But her words cut off. "Damn, but that hurts," she finally muttered. The gash arced almost to the corner of her eye, and blood oozed out of it, slipping down her cheek. It was only a few shades darker than her hair. "I must've cut it on the portkey when… you know."

"When I knocked you over," Harry said grimly.

She winced.

"I can fix it," he offered.

She looked at him warily. "You aren't going to decide that I need to be struck by lightning, are you?"

He shook his head, solemn. Last week, he might have laughed. "I promise, no lightning."

Magic could take care of most of the healing, but Harry still took the time to find a clean towel and a couple of bandages, just in case the gash was deeper than he thought. He'd learned some pretty advanced skills from Dumbledore regarding curses and the recovery from them, but he was pants at more than rudimentary healing.  _A skill I ought to learn, considering,_ he thought.

His hands were still shaking, and he now doubted what he saw inscribed across that old, old orb.  _A trick of the light, a mistake…_

Once he had everything he needed, he returned to Ginny.

"Take off your disguise," she told him without preamble.

Harry froze. He'd forgotten. "I—"

"I don't want to see August right now," she said. With her lifted chin, fierce look, and gash across her cheek, she looked like a warrior of old.

Harry tapped his wand against the bump.

Ginny immediately looked away. Harry figured that she must not want to look at him as Harry, either. He ignored the pain in his midsection and knelt in front of her. It disturbed him that she'd apparently not been able to cast a patronus. There was no way that the woman in front of him didn't know how.

"When did you learn how to cast a patronus?" Harry asked. He was very, very gently using his wand to siphon off the blood, and a bandage to catch it.

Her eyes widened, and she cast him a fleeting look. "What makes you think I know how?" she challenged him.

Harry snorted.

There was a long silence. "My dad taught me how. It was after – the nightmares at Grimmauld Place," she finally said. Harry scooted closer to her until their knees were touching.

So she'd been fourteen, possibly fifteen. Once someone learned it – once they first cast the charm, and met their patronus – it took seismic changes to make someone suddenly incapable of casting one. Even Sirius – who'd spent fifteen years in Azkaban – had eventually been able to regain his ability to cast it.

He chanced a glance at her. Her eyes were half shut, and she was breathing through her nose. "Sorry," he murmured.

Her lids opened wider. "What are you apologizing for?" she asked.

"I don't really know how to make this painless," he offered.

And he didn't  _really_ mean just about the healing he was attempting at the moment. One reason why Ginny may not have been able to produce a patronus is if she really were reeling – romantically – from discovering that August Peverell was really Harry Potter. It'd only been a few hours, after all. He tapped his wand against his fingertips; they began to glow as though lit from within. Brushing his fingers against the outer edges of the wound, he was pleased when he saw her skin begin to knit back together.

She was taking short, sharp breaths through her nose.

Harry's other hand found hers. She held herself rigid, but unbent enough to squeeze his bones together. "When we were on the run, I hurt my leg once. When Ron did this, I screamed," he admitted.

Something that might have been a laugh huffed out of her. "I'm not laughing because you were hurt," she told him. "Just… trying to picture my brother playing a Healer."

Harry thought it was a good sign that she laughed. His guilt didn't ease. He wished that that mad spell that had come over him at Godric's Hollow had never happened. He'd been about to tell her everything, then he'd  _turned into_ August, kissed her, and therefore became guilty of playing emotional games with her. After the way her crush on him had died, with him screaming at her to get out of the room, and her so upset by that that her entire family tried to keep them away from each other… no wonder she was upset.

"There were times these last couple of months that I—"

"So it looks like you two had fun at the Ministry," Neville said.

Irritation clawed at Harry.

He glared at Neville, who raised his eyebrows.

Ginny pulled her hand away from his, stood up, and went to stand with Neville. Luna emerged from wherever she'd been, looking rather abstract, and stood next to Ginny. As soon as he realized they were presenting a united front against him, Harry stood, arms held loosely at his sides. He ignored the way his midsection was now squirming. If they decided they could no longer work with him… that was their prerogative. Moments ticked by and discomfort settled over his shoulders.

"We figure it was Dumbledore who set you up to this," Neville said, finally breaking the silence.

Harry shrugged. "But I still—"

It was not his night to finish a sentence, it seemed.

Dumbledore's silvery phoenix glided toward him. "Please be advised I've been called to an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot to discuss the break-in at the Ministry. Until such a time that I contact you, please assume it is unsafe to contact me." His words were formal and did not give a single thing away. And yet Harry felt acutely uncomfortable, as though Dumbledore'd laid every single secret bare.

"Well, that answers that," Ginny said drily.

"I shouldn't have gone along with it," Harry said. "Especially not once I realized I knew who you three were." He didn't want to add that a major contributing factor to keeping his true identity hidden was finding out Ginny was the Seeker.

"Secrets like that are best kept, August," Luna said.

Harry studied them. None of them looked angry, in fact, Neville looked quite casual. But their solidarity excluded him. He opened his mouth to ask when they'd figured it out; was it during the mess at Godric's Hollow that Ginny'd guessed? Had he somehow given himself away with the lightning? But he did not think he could ask that question. Something in the way all three of them held themselves told him that they would not welcome it.

"I am sorry," he said quietly.

"As far as I'm concerned, that's unnecessary," said Neville.

"I'm still going to call you August," said Luna.

"And we want you to still maintain the disguise," said Ginny.

"I – what – but—"

"I nearly shouted your name tonight when the Ministry security were rushing in, which would have been catastrophic," said Ginny. "We can't afford to let it be known that Harry Potter is now working with us. The Ministry would come down on us." Her brown eyes were guarded but guileless. Harry's gaze dropped to her lips, and he looked away.

He let his gaze travel around the church. It was as lively and bustling as ever; papers were shuffling themselves, cabinet doors opened and closed; there was an owl pecking at one of the high sanctuary windows. A cold shudder went through him as he imagined the wards breaking and the Ministry descending on them. He saw shadowy figures in robes destroying everything in here, sanctioned by the government. It was an ugly scene, and he didn't want it to happen. But he also needed to make sure they were truly fine with it. "Are you sure you want me to continue working for you?" Harry asked quietly. He didn't look at them, not wanting them to see the plea in his eyes.

"Of course we do," said Neville. "But we think Dumbledore had it right, and you should still be in disguise."

Harry blew out a breath. An image of that old, old orb and what was written on it flashed through his mind.  _August Peverell doesn't exist_ , he told himself firmly. "All right," he said finally. "Whatever you three want."

There was another awkward silence, only broken by Luna. "Well, that's settled, August. Ginny, let me see those memories of the Hall of Prophecy."

The next few hours were very uncomfortable for Harry, though the others did not by word or gesture allude to his disguise. Guilt simmered in him. He could feel the weight of unsaid things pressing down on him while Luna extracted first Ginny's memories of the Hall of Prophecy, and then his. It was not a simple procedure, unlike how Dumbledore drew out his and placed them in the pensieve.

"I need you to concentrate on the Hall, August," Luna had to tell him three separate times. His memories were drawn out, creating a halo of gold light around her wand.

"Sorry," he kept muttering.

It was after midnight by the time she was done. Harry was exhausted in every part of his body, jumpy with worry over the Ministry, and uncomfortable knowing that Ginny, Neville, and Luna must have a dozen recriminations for him that they were holding back so they could all do their jobs.

The lights in the big room were low. Harry looked around for Ginny, but found only Neville, sitting in one of the armchairs and rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead.

"She went home an hour ago," Neville told him.

Harry sighed.

Now that the memories were out of his head and Ginny was gone, Harry did not see much point in lingering here. Except he had to say one thing. "Neville, I  _am_ sorry," he said quietly. He was sorry he'd deceived Neville and Luna. He was sorry he couldn't actually be August Peverell for Ginny.

"Yeah, I figured," Neville said easily. "But Harry – you don't mind if I call you Harry? Just while we're here? – you saved my life yesterday. Or you at least saved me from quite a bit of pain and the possibility of Azkaban. Honestly, that's a lot more important than anything else. Ginny'll come around; she's just pretty competitive, you know."

Harry shook his head, said a quiet thanks, and headed out the door to the Apparition point.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was his week to be surprised by Weasleys, he supposed. The next morning, after a fitful night's sleep and several dreams he'd rather forget, Harry found Fred and George loitering in the entryway, taunting one of the portraits.

"It's just a wee spell," said George.

"Don't you  _want_ red hair?"

"Preposterous," said the portrait. "Get back! Get away from me!"

"You know, I'm glad we finally got Mrs. Black off the wall, but I'm not sure who Kreacher replaced her with was an improvement," Harry said. He tried to sound light-hearted, but might have failed, because suddenly the twins were eyeing him.

"Just the bloke we wanted to see," said Fred. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and began steering him away.

"It's Sunday," Harry pointed out. "I'm headed over to the Burrow right now. You could've seen me there."

"Too much of a madhouse," said George, who contributed at least forty percent of the madness.

"We wanted to bring you your potion," Fred said earnestly. He wore a floppy orange hat that clashed horribly with his hair. George wore a matching one in yellow.

"My potion?"

"Yeah," said George, peering at him. There was a crease in his brow.

"We were late getting it to you last time," said Fred.

"And we wanted to make sure you got it on time," said George.

"Listen, I haven't even taken the last one," said Harry. "I don't really think I need it anymore." He braced himself, knowing that the twins would have questions; Harry'd never told them the real reason why he needed it, nor did he plan to. But they were much like their sister in that they could sniff out secrets and weakness. They lacked her finesse, of course, but they did a passable job.

"You haven't had any side effects?" Fred asked, business-like.

"I – no, I don't think so," said Harry. In fact, he'd thought the side effects only occurred when he was taking the potion. They'd explained it to him when they'd first given it to him.

"It's a good think you aren't dating anyone," Fred said cheerfully, clapping him on the back.

"What – why?" Harry asked.

"Just might take some getting used to, that's all," said George. "Your antidote put a damper on romance, and everything that entails."

"Emotions and such," said Fred.

"And libido," said George.

"If you were in a relationship, it could cause trouble," added Fred.

"Why?" Harry persisted. "I'm just curious – why?"

"Been like you've had your ears plugged for a year, then suddenly got 'em cleaned out," said George.

"All your feelings would be really… loud," said Fred.

"It'd be overwhelming," said George. "For you, definitely, and whatever witch you were with."

Harry looked from one to the other.

"Don't think he understands, mate," said George, shaking his head.

Harry was not sure of the analogy, and he ignored the faint misgivings he had. The issues Ginny had with him were real, not something manufactured by some side effects to a potion he was no longer taking. The twins were just having him on again. "Thanks for the concern," Harry said. "But it'll be fine. I've been fine."

He effectively ended the conversation by tromping down to the kitchen, grabbing the Floo powder, tossing it in the grate, and stepping into the fire. "The Burrow!" he shouted.

Harry told himself, later, that he really ought to have known that everyone would be talking about the break-in at the Burrow. But he was still surprised when Ron flung a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_  at him.

"Didja see that?" Ron asked eagerly.

In splashy, bold letters, the headline read: " **CRIMINAL BREAKS INTO MINISTRY, DESTROYS PRECIOUS PROPHECIES**." Harry's stomach churned uncomfortably. Not because he felt guilty that he'd broken into the Ministry and destroyed property, no. It was the word 'prophecy' and Harry's own history and his shock at what he'd seen.

" _Security wizards revealed late last night that someone infiltrated the Department of Mysteries and destroyed countless orbs gathered from prophets and seers all over Britain. 'Second time in two days this happened,' said Zachariah Smith, 24,"_ Ron read this loudly and eagerly. "Harry! We went to school with Smith."

"Wasn't he a bit of a git?" Harry asked.

"Too right he was," said Ron. His voice lowered. "You don't seem too worried, mate," he said. "Two years ago, you'd've been butchering your hair even more than you already have."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry said blankly.

Ron shrugged. "Just that you did a shoddy job with your haircut."

Ginny chose this moment to make an entrance. She looked over at Harry, eyeing his head with a cool expression on her face. "Ron's right, Harry," she said. "You ought to let Mum fix it… what'd you use, a saw?"

Ron guffawed.

Harry's cheeks heated. "I… got my hair caught in something," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. "That's the second time someone's mentioned my hair, is it that bad?"

Ron gaped at him. "Merlin, Harry, don't you ever look in a mirror?"

"I've had other things on my mind," Harry said, indignant. He saw Ginny watching him out of the corner of his eye. There was a tiny smile quirking her lips and teasing him.

"It must be big if you can't even be arsed to care about someone breaking into the Department of Mysteries, going after some prophecies," noted Ron. He gave Ginny a casual glance. "Give us a moment, would you?"

"That was rude," Harry said flatly.

"What was?" Ron blinked at him.

"You just told Ginny to go away," Harry said. Isn't that exactly what Ron'd been so angry about Harry doing to Ginny? But suddenly it was all right? Ginny could be told by her own brother to get out of the kitchen? Indignation transformed into genuine ire. How many times had he been blocked by one Weasley or another?

Ginny took the wind from his sails in the next instant. "Appreciate it, Harry, but I bet all Ron wants to talk about is the break in.  _Boorrriiiing_ ," she said. She rolled her eyes and left, leaving only a hint of something flowery behind her.

"See, she doesn't care. She—"

But Ron's explanation was cut off abruptly by Fred and George Apparating almost directly on top of him. "Geroff!" he said. "Mum said we weren't to Apparate into the kitchen anymore, we've got to—"

"Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie," Fred clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"You're going to be twenty-five soon," George said. Sympathy dripped off his words. "It's time to stop trying to be Mum's favorite."

"It's never going to happen," Fred said.

"I'm not trying to be Mum's favorite," Ron said, clearly feeling abused. "She's asked all of us not to Apparate in here, that's all."

Harry took the opportunity to slip away, wanting to find Ginny.

She was in the sitting room with the rest of her family, and everyone was indeed discussing the break-in at the Ministry. Arthur was shaking his head over the loss of so many prophecies. "I'm glad I'm not an Unspeakable, I heard from one of the security wizards that the mess is unbelievable."

"Do they have any leads?"

"They've narrowed it down to about, oh, ten people," said Arthur. "Including someone who came to visit my office, but I think he's pretty low on the suspicion list."

Harry leaned up against the wall, not wanting to join the circle. It gave him a good view of Ginny. He'd barely taken in the details of her outfit when he'd seen her in the kitchen. Her robes were a pale green that made her hair look even brighter, and had intricate embroidery of flowers around the sleeves and neckline. Convinced as he was that no one could see him watching her, he lingered over that neckline, enjoying the way it clung to her in interesting ways when she breathed or spoke. He particularly enjoyed when she reached over to smack George for something and the neckline shifted to reveal a hint of her bra. It was a darker shade of green than her robes, and contrasted nicely with her creamy skin.

His gaze drifted down to her legs. Her knees were pressed together. It was when he imagined kneeling in front of her and coaxing her knees apart that Harry shook himself. He was standing there, thinking about her like that in front of nearly her entire family, and growing harder and harder by the moment.

"So do we think it's a Death Eater?" Harry forced out, locking his eyes on Arthur.

His words added a burst of renewal to the conversation that had in fact been winding down. It carried them until Molly announced that it was time to eat and they all trouped into the dining room and sat around the magically enlarged table. Bowls of all sorts of food floated toward them from the kitchen, all orchestrated by Molly. Arthur was just announcing that Dumbledore was still involved in the very long discussion going on in the Wizengamot.

"They've been meeting since it happened, or thereabouts," Arthur said. "Closed room, you know, no way to know what's being said until Dumbledore comes out and tells us himself."

"It's been a day, right? Should be soon," said Ron.

"The longest Wizengamot meeting ever recorded lasted forty three days," said Arthur.

"I think it was forty five, actually," said Ginny, who had not said one word about the break in for quite some time. She shrugged when everyone turned to look at her. "I took History of Magic," she said, rolling her eyes. "Besides, someone had to play Hermione. Where is she, anyway?"

"Still sick," said Ron.

"Poor thing," said Molly. "Something's going around, Ginny was sick just a bit ago."

Ron pointed at his little sister. Harry was careful to look just to the side of her. "Ginny was well enough to be out at the Leaky with friends—"

"And well enough to be out on a date on Halloween," said Bill.

This was not new information for anyone, Harry knew. Discomfort settled low in his stomach.

"Was it a  _real_  date, Ginny, dear?" Molly asked cautiously.

Harry expected her to tell them that it hadn't been serious, that whatever it had been between her and August, it was over.

Instead, she surprised him. Again.

"I was out on a date," she said pleasantly. "It wasn't really the date either of us had imagined, but… well, Bill met him. He's a good man." The warmth and pleasure in her tone curled around Harry, but did little to comfort him. Jealousy simmered inside him. Ignoring what he'd seen in the Hall of Prophecy – that didn't,  _couldn't_ matter – he thought of all the ways August Peverell was better for her than Harry Potter.

"Didn't he have to defeat one of the teenagers who'd turned into Voldemort?" Ron asked with his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

"Yeah, he shoved all the kids dressed as Harry Potter away and took it on himself," said Ginny. "It was very  _telling_ about his character, I thought."

Harry looked down at the patterned tablecloth. It was all well and good for August to have defeated the Voldemort, but when it actually happened – when the stakes were so much higher, when it was darker, and lonelier – the results were not nearly so optimistic.  _The Daily Prophet_ was not accusing August Peverell of using the Dark Arts, or layering all kinds of anti-Harry Potter sentiment in their stories and editorials.  _August_ was free of that kind of thing, while he, Harry, was stuck in it.

"I don't like that he didn't take you home right away," Molly said.

"Yeah," said Harry, before he could stop himself. His brain had had a seizure, and it had escaped out of his mouth.

"Thank you, Harry," said Molly. "It would've been so much safer if you'd gone home."

"Clearly, since I'm not at St. Mungo's, I managed to survive it just fine," said Ginny, annoyed.

"He could've been a bit more concerned about your safety, dear," said Molly.

"Molly," Arthur said gently.

Molly sighed. "I just worry about you. I know I do it too much, but…"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I know, Mum, I'm used to it by now."

Used to totally ignoring her mum's worry, Harry thought. And quite brilliantly, at that. It was one of the reasons why Harry'd been so shocked when she'd turned out to be the Seeker. Ginny did nothing more than offer little rolls of her eyes or slightly acerbic comments whenever her mum got a bit smothering. Harry didn't think he'd be able to handle that type of thing with any sort of subtlety.

"And I heard he has red hair," Harry said triumphantly.

All the redheads at the table turned to look at him, eyebrows raised and incredulous looks on their faces. Harry sunk down lower into his chair. "What if it clashes with hers?" he asked with great dignity. "Nothing wrong with red hair, but…"

"You're one to talk about  _hair_ ," said Ron, jabbing his fork toward him.

"It's not that bad," Harry mumbled.

"Harry, dear, I can fix it after we eat," Molly offered. It was plain to see she agreed with Ron.

Harry's eyes caught Ginny's. Another little smirk hung off the corner of her mouth, and her eyes were sparkling. There was something in them that made his heart speed up. Heat gathered below his waist and Harry was helpless to stop it. It was one of the most guilty erections he'd ever had, sitting there across from her, her family all around, and her unfathomable reasons for talking so about August Peverell, whom they both knew did not –  _quite_ – exist.

 _And she's cut up about that, you idiot_ , he told his penis.

It took some time before his unruly body settled back down. He ignored the conversation, and focused on his soup. It wasn't until Ginny mentioned August's name that he looked back up.

"I think it's a little soon to bring August home, Mum," she was saying.

Harry's head started to ache and he put his spoon down.  _Bring August home? To the Burrow?_

"Well, we'd like to meet him," said Arthur.

There was a chorus from Ginny's brothers, echoing their father's words. In the tumult, Molly leaned toward her daughter. If Harry hadn't been straining hard to listen, he would've missed it. "It's nice to see you've moved on," Molly murmured. "From… you know." Harry suspected she meant Ginny's old, dead crush on him. When Molly cut him a glance he pretended to be oblivious to, this was confirmed.

"I know, Mum," Ginny said, just as softly.

An elbow jabbed into his side a moment later, startling Harry. "What was that for?" Harry gaped at Ron.

"You've got your elbow in the mashed potatoes," Ron said, annoyed. "I was going to bring them home to Hermione, you know. Said she's been craving them."

"Oh… sorry," said Harry, neck prickling. With as much dignity as he could muster, he pulled his elbow out of the mashed potatoes.

He survived the rest of the dinner without any more mishaps, thankfully. It was still early when Ginny left; Harry would've left then, but Molly gave him a determined look, pushed him into a chair, and announced she was going to give him a proper haircut. Harry endured it, trying not to think too hard about what happened during his last haircut, and shortly afterward, made his excuses and returned home to Grimmauld Place.

It wasn't late, but Harry headed up to his room anyway. He took the time to do little things he hadn't done in quite some time: he cleaned Arnold's cage, freshened the sheets on his bed, and even dusted. Using magic, he could have done all of this quite quickly. But he did it the Muggle way, wanting to focus on something other than Ginny.

At one point, he stopped, and held the little vial of antidote the twins had given him. It was cool in his hand, and there were little chips in the glass bottle where his owl had banged it up against something. There was really nothing stopping him from taking it, except… did he really need to take it anymore? The only witches Harry spent any amount of time with were Ginny, Hermione, and Luna; none of them would slip a love potion into his pumpkin juice. Not to mention, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the antidote had had other effects as well. He'd certainly felt more alive this last month than he'd had the year and a half he'd spent taking it on a monthly basis.

Realizing that, it was tempting to take it.

 _Don't be stupid_ , he told himself,  _it won't make the stuff with Ginny go away. I'll just be too dumb to deal with it_.

Deciding not to give it another thought, he opened his window and tossed the vial of potion out of it. It made a very satisfying smash when it hit the pavement.

Harry threw himself down on his bed, still not tired, but trying not to think of anything complicated. His limbs relaxed. It felt good to make a decision that he had some control of, he realized. He couldn't control what others around him did, what they thought, what they wrote about him in the newspapers. But he could control that. Despite how  _complicated_ he'd made everything, when he looked back over the last couple of years, he did seem very muffled. It wasn't until working for  _The Turnip_ and getting to know Ginny that he realized he'd been drifting. Now he felt more alive than he had since Voldemort killed him.

It was into these thoughts that Dumbledore's patronus intruded.

"The meeting with the Wizengamot is over," it said, still not revealing very much at all. Dumbledore was obviously not taking any chances that Harry was still with company. "Should you have any questions, I will be returning to my office at Hogwarts shortly."

Harry glanced at the clock. It wasn't even ten yet. There was plenty of time to have a discussion. The patronus disappeared, and Harry scrambled for the outer robes he'd just tidied up. Before he left, he opened the hinged door in Arnold's cage, letting him loose for the night. Determined, now, he left Grimmauld Place.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

He knew where she lived.

He'd been there a couple of times; everyone had helped her move into the small flat. The only other residents were magical, so it looked nothing like any Muggle apartment complex. Instead, it looked like a small cottage, with a profusion of flowers planted all around. There were five mailboxes outside it. Remembering how this worked, Harry tapped the one with her name on it with his wand. "Ginny Weasley," he said firmly. The other mailboxes disappeared.

The cottage, which had looked imprecise, like a painting rather than a house, sharpened into view. Harry strode up the path and rapped on the door before he could lose his nerve.

There were quiet sounds; she was inside. Harry's heart sped up. He could hear the light slap of bare feet against wood and his palms got sweaty. And yet, as nervous and determined as he was, something in him eased when he saw her. She'd changed out of her green robes, and now wore a silky overrobe decorated with gently fluttering snitches. Her mouth fell open into a perfect oval. For a few moments, they just looked at each other; the silence got heavier by the moment. This did not help his pounding heart and sweaty palms.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

In reply, she opened the door wider and stood aside.

The space was very small. There was small sitting area, and a large green curtain that divided the room in half. Harry knew that she'd added the curtain to give herself another room; her bedroom and bed were hidden behind it. Ginny shut the door behind him, and said several incantations. She was bolstering the wards. While she did that, Harry looked around. There was a small, over-stuffed sofa, a bookcase, and an apothecary cabinet with a battered old cauldron on top.

"Will you listen?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "Yes, I – yes. I'll listen, Harry."

Neither one of them sat. Harry stood in the center of the small room. Ginny leaned up against the wall. She'd been needling him and then avoiding him since the haircut and now that he was standing in front of her, his tongue was tied in his mouth. "This is hard for me," he admitted.

"You think it isn't hard for  _me_?" she asked, incredulous.

"Well, that's why it's hard for me," said Harry. He waved his hand. "I'm sorry there was never anyone named August," he said.

Her brows drew together.

"I shouldn't have kissed you when you didn't know it was really me," he told her. "It was unfair. And my only defense is that – you know everyone was turning into their costumes in Godric's Hollow. Well, I—"

"—turned into August, basically," Ginny interrupted him. "Yes, I know. In fact, I had that figured out before you did, believe me."

Harry looked at her, uncertain. Her words from earlier at the Burrow came back.  _It's very_ telling  _about his character_ , she'd said, or something similar. Was that when she'd figured it out? If so, he was glad. But still. "Be that as it may, it was still wrong. I mean… August Peverell isn't complicated. He doesn't have any kind of baggage. I'm sorry it turned out this way for you, that this bloke you were kissing isn't real." He drew in a breath. "August Peverell  _is not real_. It was just me."

Color swept over her cheeks. There was a strange, stricken look in her eyes. "So it wasn't real," she said flatly. "You didn't want to kiss me, you were just – it really was all part of the ruse –  _damn it, Harry_ ," she said fiercely, folding her arms across her stomach.

"No, that's not what I meant," Harry said after he took a few breaths. "That's not it. I wanted to kiss you  _as me_. And not when I was lying to you. I'm not trying to justify anything, Ginny," he said. Her eyes were very round. "I just… August Peverell kissing Ginny Weasley is so much less complicated than me kissing you."

"You keep saying that," Ginny said. Harry could tell by her tone that she was intensely exasperated. "What, do you have a lover? Did you sign a magical contract not to – to kiss anyone before you're thirty? What, exactly, is so complicated?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times. He wished fiercely for the magic words to say that would help him through this without losing her completely. "I know I'm not some sort of catch, Ginny," he said finally. The press, his history… what witch would want to get tangled up in him?

"Not some sort of catch," Ginny said slowly.

His stomach dipped. "I liked what we were starting to – I thought we were getting closer," he said. "I mean, I know you and August were getting closer."

"I knew you were August before you kissed me," Ginny said insistently.

"You  _matter_ to me," he said. "I just… know I fucked it up. You're angry, and—"

"I'm not as mad as you seem to think I am," she said.

"You were  _furious_  yesterday," he reminded her. "And today! All that talk about how much better August is—"

"You  _are_ August—"

"Not really, I don't have his nicely blank history," Harry told her.

He couldn't look away from her, and was hardly even blinking. He didn't miss it when her stance softened and heat once more spread across her cheeks. The tension between them shifted; it brightened and grew warmer by degrees.  _I'm not as mad as you seem to think_ , she'd just said.

"You aren't as mad as I think?" he asked.

"I was mad because I didn't like what you would've thought of me if I kissed two different men," she said. "You wouldn't have known I knew you were the same person; you would've thought I was some sort of slag or – or a cheater. I was also mad – at myself – for letting it slip. I lost a bet, and I'm very competitive."

Harry's mind was whirling as he tried to process this. "I wouldn't have thought you were a slag," he said, because he had to say something.

"That kind of thing can break any sort of feelings," Ginny said, shrugging one shoulder. "I didn't know if you'd get jealous of – you know – and decide I wasn't worth holding hands with, or… kissing. Or any of it."

"I don't think that would've happened," said Harry, "especially because I wasn't going to kiss you. I was going to tell you the truth about August… about me… and what was really going on."

She made a small sound of frustration Harry thought might be about whatever bet was going on. But he wasn't concerned about that. His mind had caught up with what she was telling him, and the tight ball centered in his midsection had relaxed. Warm relief filled him. The fact he hadn't lost whatever this fragile thing was between them made him light-headed and he couldn't help the smile from curving his lips upward.

She was still solemn. "So what do you want to do now?" she asked him.

 _Keep smiling at you_ , he thought. Instead, he asked: "Can we start over? Without the subterfuge?" He didn't know he'd meant to say that, but the words felt right. He wanted to get to know her without the barrier of his secret between them. And while he now had a better idea of what she was about, he knew there was a lot more to learn.

"All right," she said, finally offering him a smile. It was small but real. "We can start over."


	16. Chapter 16

When Harry left Ginny's little cottage, he tipped his head back and looked at the stars, feeling a bright cord of hope.

As the next days and weeks passed, Harry felt a curious balance of hope and caution. The time he spent at the turnip church was not  _quite_ the same. He told himself repeatedly that this was because Ginny and the others were conducting an intensive study of the prophecies, and Harry could not quite bring himself to join in with any enthusiasm.  _I've had enough to do with prophecies for a life time_ , he told himself firmly, again and again.

So he visited apothecaries, talked to other witches and wizards about potions, and focused on that while the others focused on such like divination, seers. Not that the only thing Harry did in those few weeks was study potions. He took up the file Ginny'd copied at high risk to herself and made an entire scroll of notes about Kingsley Shacklebolt. It bothered his curiosity that so much of it had been redacted: whole sections were swathed with a charm to make the pages of parchment in the file to look as though ink had spilled over it.

He brought this up to Dumbledore several times.

"I don't know any more than you do, Harry, I swear," Dumbledore said solemnly, each time. "All I know is what I told you last week: Shacklebolt was one of Moody's associates. The Ministry has not seen fit to explain why they've imprisoned him and what they are doing. I'm working on limited information. Unlike the matter of Gus Polkiss."

Guilt and amusement always tugged Harry about whenever Dumbledore mentioned that. An unnecessary security precaution, he'd thought at the time. But the Ministry had narrowed their suspects down to four people who could have broken into the Ministry. So far, Gus Polkiss seemed the least likely; he was there to do a kind deed, after all. But the Ministry was still looking for him.

"You'll let me know if they narrow him down," said Harry. In truth, he wasn't exactly worried. Gus Polkiss was an alias of an alias.

No, his focus was on potions, and Shacklebolt.

Harry was also haunted by the house elf he'd seen in the Department of Mysteries, and he spent a couple hours a day researching house elves but was frustrated by the lack of meaningful information. His best guess – and Ginny agreed – was that the Ministry was working out how house elves often subverted wards and such to do their master's bidding. The idea of bypassing resolute magical protections… Harry could see the value in that, and the Ministry must be slavering over the idea to employ such methods.

It made him sick.

The bright spot in these weeks, as had been the case since he'd joined  _The Turnip_ , was Ginny.

Harry didn't touch her that first week. It was much too awkward, they were busy, and it seemed like they never left the church on outings. Neville and Luna were  _always there_. Every couple of days, he would start to worry that despite her promise to start over and give him another chance, but then something would happen to calm him.

The Thursday after he went to her little cottage, he was sitting in her office, telling her everything he'd learned about Shacklebolt. "I'm glad you managed to copy the file," he said, with a certain amount of reluctance. "I know it was dangerous, but it seems so odd with all the information redacted." He tapped his quill against the scroll he was working on. "Dumbledore says he'll make some inquiries, but he's still mostly interested in the Ministry narrowing its focus on Gus Polkiss." He scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks for that, by the way, brilliant to have an alias on top of an alias." He looked up at the right time and caught a look on her face that made his heart skip a beat. One corner of her mouth curved up in a subtle smile, and her eyes were fixed on some point well beneath his chin.

Warmth gathered where she was looking.

The moment was broken when Luna wandered in with information about a thirteen year old student at Hogwarts who'd had a prophecy in the form of a limerick told about him.

Ginny winked at him on Sunday. Harry was just reaching for the peas when Ginny walked behind her parents and quite brazenly winked at him, nearly making him drop the dish. To cover this, Harry swung to Fred and George and asked them how business was going. This began a long, involved conversation about fireworks, during which Harry kept glancing at Ginny. Every time their eyes met, he felt a small thrill.

"Harry, would you pay attention to your elbow?" Hermione, who was back to attending family functions but still looked pale and wan, asked him quite testily.

Ginny told him with small, infrequent looks and touches over the following week that not all was lost. But it wasn't until she looked up from a particularly long treatise of the history of seers in the British Isles, eyes wide, and hair disheveled from running her fingers through it, announced that it was the full moon, and they had to go check on Remus Lupin right now that Harry got to spend any amount of time alone with her.

A part of him almost hoped Remus would experience another Wolfsbane Potion failure so that he could spend the hours between sunset and moonset with her. As Harry waited for her to gather up some mysterious objects (including a large, silvery net), they hurried out from the church. Each of them clutched one of the Firebolts. It was raining, but his watch told them they still had several hours to go before the sun dropped below the horizon.

"So where did you get such a net?" Harry asked her. She'd just explained it could capture and contain most magical creatures. She treated it accordingly, as though it were made of diamonds.

They were huddled together under his Cloak, up against the side of Remus's cottage, waiting to see what would happen. The sun was going down, and Harry murmured a warming charm. They were closer together than they'd been since the Ministry. His body wanted wrap itself around her, but Harry was mindful of the fact she'd given him a second chance when he'd thought she wouldn't. If she'd just stay still, it wouldn't be as much of an issue. But whenever she shifted, he'd feel her brush against his left arm and leg. Her hair would tickle him under his nose, and he'd get a heady rush of her scent.

Conversation could only help his dilemma.

There was a hitch in her breath. "It was a gift, actually," she said slowly, after a long moment.

Harry shifted his legs and rested more comfortably against the side of Remus Lupin's cottage. His thigh rested more firmly against her and he took it as a positive sign that she didn't move away.

"There was a grindylow problem in the north that I took care of," said Ginny, after another pause. Her hands twisted the fabric of the Cloak, drawing it tighter around them. Harry's glasses dug into his cheek. Scooting a little closer to her, he kept silent. His patience was rewarded, and she continued: "It was eating all this older, wealthy wizard's prized plimpies. Normally, grindylows are predatory, but this was a little extreme… outside of normal grindylow behavior, if you know what I mean."

Harry's knowledge of grindylows was lacking in the extreme, but he nodded anyway.

"I did some research, and finally realized that it was being poisoned by potions ingredients being dumped in the water," said Ginny. "This wizard didn't want to have the grindylow killed, but he gave me this to trap him. If I hadn't figured out about the poison, I would've had to find a whole new home for that grindylow. As thanks, I got to keep the net."

"And it definitely works on werewolves?" Harry murmured. There was no reason to doubt her.

"It should," said Ginny.

Their brooms leaned up against the wall, just in case.

"You know…"

"About last month…"

They both began speaking at the same moment.

"What, sorry?"

"No, you go, I wasn't going to say anything important," said Harry. His goal was mainly to get her to talk.

"You know how my family is," said Ginny. There was a shushing, rumbly sound of her rubbing her feet up against the packed dirt and pebbles. "I'm glad you didn't tell them what happened last month with Remus. Honestly, I think sometimes Mum wants to lock me in my old room at the Burrow and never let me out."

Harry thought this was a slightly exaggerated, though fairly accurate assessment. "I signed a magical contract," he said idly. "I couldn't tell them."

"Did I know that?" Ginny asked. Then, wickedly: " _August_ maybe couldn't have told them, but Harry Potter definitely could."

Guilt rose up in him. "I—"

Her fingers shifted over to his knee. Instead of finishing his sentence, he sighed. The tip of her finger traced a pattern over his robes, and then withdrew. His stomach swooped. Distracted by the sensation of heat slowly congregating in one area, he missed half of what she said next.

"—wouldn't have broken my cover, but I like to avoid awkward conversations," said Ginny.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Wait! No, you don't!"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you, or did you not, promise to bring  _August Peverell_ home to meet your family?"

She nudged him as she chuckled. "I meant I try to avoid conversations that are awkward for  _me_ , not for  _you_ , Harry."

He snorted in surprise, which made her chuckle turn into a laugh. Harry couldn't help but join in, a little self-conscious. The warmth between them was something Harry thought he could reach out and touch. He didn't quite start grasping at air, but he shifted his arm until she was tucked under it. Very aware of the places where their bodies touched, he let his head drift to the side until his nose brushed against her hair. The faint, flowery scent he associated with her – and had decided must be something she put in her hair – lingered even after a long day working at the church. A thought bubbled up in his mind that he needed to ask her when she found out it was him.

She turned into his chest, and his arm instinctively tightened around her.

A quiet moment swelled between them. Harry didn't want to disturb it, but couldn't help how the question kept nudging him. He shifted slightly. His instincts told him that she didn't want to tell him… he didn't want to push her. The back of her hand brushed his knee again.  _Just enjoy this_ , he told himself firmly. Instead, he allowed himself into sink into enjoying the feel of her, the way she breathed – quiet and even – and the sweet smell of her. The last light of the sun spread over them. His thumb stroked down her arm, and his whole body tightened most pleasurably when she shivered.

"It's almost sundown," she finally murmured.

They pulled away from each other. Harry didn't think she wanted to any more than he did, and they were still quite close together – and not even just because they were under the same cloak – when they stood up. He closed his eyes.  _Remus might be jumping out that window any moment_ , he told himself.  _Pull yourself together._ Their eyes met. Something Harry saw in them steadied him, reminded him of what they were about here. While it was true that she was who was distracting him so, it was also true that she was preparing herself to face down a werewolf and either trap him with her net or chase him down on a broom as they'd done last time.  _Later,_ Harry promised himself.

The sun sank behind the mountains. Harry's body tensed with anticipation and fear.

It was quiet.

"Let's head around the back," Ginny said in a thready voice. And she pulled the Cloak off, folded it up, and handed it to Harry.

They walked through a puddle hidden in the shadow of the cottage. Wet seeped into his trainers and Ginny muttered a "damn". Once they stepped out of it, Harry murmured a spell that dried first her feet and then his. All was well on each side of the house. His pounding heart refused to believe it at first. He took her hand, and her fingers shook a little.

"Give me a lift, Harry?" Ginny asked, when they were just under Remus's bedroom window.

He hoisted her up and wrapped his arms around the tops of her thighs. Her bottom pressed against his chest, and he missed half of what she said next.

"—up, I think the potion worked this month," said Ginny.

"What?" Harry asked.

"He's all curled up as a wolf," she repeated.

Distractions aside, Harry wanted to check for himself. They walked around to the front, no longer needing to hide their presence, and a charm took care of the lock on the front door. Remus's cottage was tidy and calm. A clock ticking loudly was the only sound aside from the small noises Harry and Ginny made as they came in and looked around.

"There's the potion," Ginny jerked her head toward a tall, pear-shaped glass bottle. "Look, it's from Tiberius's company… that's the expensive brand."

"There are different brands?"

Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, the basics are the same but some potioneers like to mix it up a little."

Harry thought about that. "How so?"

She shrugged again. "They keep that to themselves, unfortunately," she said. "Trade secrets, I guess." Harry was reminded suddenly of that old school book he'd found his seventh year. The Half Blood Prince had had a lot to say about the effectiveness of the standard way potions were taught. In fact, Harry'd learned that firsthand.

"That makes sense," he said. A dozen half formed suspicions about potions and how they were failing formed and dissolved in the time it took Ginny to pick of the bottle, glance at it, give it a sniff, and put it down precisely where she found it.

Not wanting to invade Remus's privacy any more than he already had, but unable to help himself, he went down the tiny hall and peeked into his room. The werewolf was curled up, asleep. Its black snout curled up slightly and it was snoring. It was atop a pile of blankets, and its back feet scrabbled lazily at them, messing them up, as though the wolf were enjoying a dream of chasing after hapless human prey under the light of the full moon.

A light touch at his back had Harry turning to her.

"Are you ready?" she asked quietly. "All's well here."

They were halfway to the door, hand in hand, when an otter patronus flickered into view. It disappeared in a moment. Harry looked at Ginny, astounded. Hermione-?

The otter appeared again. "Harry – I need help – Ron at work—"

Hermione sounded absolutely wretched.

Ginny pulled away from him. "I'll finish up here, you go to her. She sounds wretched."

"You aren't coming?"

"She'd know we were together when you got her message," said Ginny. "And I've got work to do."

For a moment, Harry was torn. He didn't want to leave her, not now – but Hermione could barely send a patronus message…

"I might stop by later," Ginny offered.

He nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'll see you soon."

Harry Apparated right from Remus's sitting room, giving Ginny one last rueful look. Grimmauld Place was dark and silent, exuding the same sort of empty aura as Remus's cottage. "Hermione?" Harry said tentatively. Then, when he couldn't find her in the kitchen, or any room on the first or second floor, he said more robustly: "Hermione?!"

"…I'm up here… don't come in the bathroom…"

Her voice was very weak. Harry pounded up the stairs and a hunch had him outside the door of a small bathroom hardly anyone ever used, rather than the closer one up the hall.

"Erm, are you okay?" he asked.

"I haven't been able to stop throwing up," she said miserably. "Ron's at work – if he skives off again because of me, they'll sack him – I just need a potion."

Harry nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. "Of course, where do you keep it?"

There was a pause and the faint sound of retching. "You have to make it," she said.

Harry did not have a problem helping her, but he did wonder if he were the right wizard for the job. "Okay, I'll do it," he told her. "But are you sure you don't want me to get Molly? She's loads better at—"

"No!" Hermione said.

Harry was dubious, but he guessed he could understand. Molly was a wonderful woman, but if one of her loved ones – both Harry and Hermione were included in that number – were sick, she could be very… smothering. It was why Ginny'd chosen to recuperate from her illness at Grimmauld Place and hide the worst of it from her mum. "Okay, I want to help," he said. And he did. "Just tell me what to do."

"You sound like you even mean it," said Hermione. Harry could tell she was crying.

"I do!" he said, surprised.

"It's just… oh, Harry, thank you," she said.

"Just tell me what to do," he repeated.

"Okay," she said. It was one of her favorite things to do, so Harry knew she would enjoy that. He was right. She listed off a number of things for him to do, in between pauses when Harry suspected she vomited. By the time she finished telling him that while she had almost every single potions ingredient he needed for the potion in his apothecary cabinet, he had to go to Diagon Alley for billywig sting slime.

"It has to be the  _slime_ , Harry," she said. Telling him what to do had bolstered her, and she sounded nearly herself.

"Got it," he said.

Once he'd got all the instructions, he hurried out the door. He summoned his patronus, and directed his stag to send Ginny a message, telling her there wasn't a real emergency, Hermione was just sick and needed a potion made for her. Then he went to Diagon Alley.

At the last moment, he decided that he'd much rather be August Peverell when walking in public, even after dark. He touched his wand to the bump in his wrist and Apparated away.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Honestly, he ought to have known that getting the slime would be complicated.

"This is all you have?" Harry asked dubiously. It was the second apothecary he visited. The billywig sting slime looked more like sludge. It was supposed to be pale green in color, liquidy, with tiny veins of silver running through it. This was a dark green, and the consistency was so off that the harried proprietor was chipping chunks off the side of the container.

"We might have something – erm – fresher in the back," he said, giving up when the sludge broke the paring knife he was using. "I'm sorry, sir, I'll just go check."

This time it was perfectly good billywig sting slime, much to the beleaguered proprietor's relief. Harry bought it, and within thirty minutes was sitting cross-legged in front of the door of the loo Hermione'd camped out in.

"You're sure you don't want me to look in a book?"

"No!" Hermione said. Her voice filtered through the door more strongly than it had the first two times Harry'd asked her this. "I'll walk you through each step. You don't need a book."

Harry thought this was most odd, but he bit back a comment. Instead, he was careful to follow each of her instructions exactly. The blue flames under the cauldron floating in front of him were set to a simmer as he added each of the ingredients he'd laid out.

It was right about when he was adding the billywig sting slime that Ginny turned up.

"Where is everyone?" she called.

Harry nearly dropped all of it in at once, instead of carefully adding it while he stirred the cauldron in a counter-clockwise motion.  _Focus, Harry_ , he ordered himself. He permitted himself to smile at her when she appeared.

"Making a potion for Hermione," he said. "She's sick."

Indeed, more retching sounds came from the bathroom.

Ginny had her hand on the door and was saying soothing things to Hermione. Harry focused on the potion, not wanting it to turn into a disaster, not with Ginny watching, and Hermione feeling so poorly. It wasn't until the potion turned an astonishing blue – as Hermione told him would happen if he did it right – that he relaxed his shoulders. He was sweating through his robes, and he cast a surreptitious freshening charm on his clothes.

"Do you – er – want Ginny to hand it to you?" he asked.

"I want you both to go downstairs and I'll get it," she said miserably.

They obeyed.

"I'm glad you came by," Harry whispered to her once they were two flights away from Hermione's loo.

"She really did sound wretched," said Ginny.

Even though it was slightly dangerous, Harry let his gaze on her linger, and then lightly gripped her upper arm. "I'm glad you came by," he said again.

She smiled at him, and brushed by him to enter the sitting room.

"Can I have a drink?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "What do you want? We have firewhiskey or butterbeer, or I could make you a gillywater." She liked those, he knew.

"I think I'm okay with just water," she said.

He found a glass in the tall cabinet, and performed the charm. When he pressed it into her hand, he leaned forward until he was close enough that her hair tickled the end of his nose. "I had an epiphany about the potions," he said in a low, low voice. "It's the ingredients. Can we meet at the church after – er – Hermione's settled?"

She nodded, then pressed a finger to her lips.

In the next moment, they could hear Hermione lurching down the stairs.

Harry casually backed away, and they both took seats five feet apart from each other.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said. She was very pale and her hair was bushier than ever. "I already feel almost human." She sank into the chair next to Ginny, leaned back, and closed her eyes. He exchanged a worried glance with Ginny.

"Are you all right?" they asked in nearly the same second.

"I will be," Hermione said, misery etched in her tone.

Over the next several minutes, Hermione made it clear to them that whatever was going on with her, she didn't want to say. "It's just a thing going 'round at the Ministry," she kept saying. Harry worried that she'd run afoul of a bad batch of potions.

"Now you're just reaching," Hermione said sharply. "I'm sorry," she said in a kinder tone. "I'm sorry. I just  _loathe_  being sick."

"Clearly," said Ginny.

Harry could learn. He knew that potions, illness, and vomiting were topics that Hermione was unwilling to discuss. He cast about for a topic, and then landed on one that made him sit up straighter. "Hermione – about  _S.P.E.W._ –"

"Harry,  _I just asked you—"_

"Not what you were just doing," Harry said with great speed. "I meant… the house-elf thing. I know you did loads of research. Why don't you tell us about that?"

"Yes, Hermione, I'd like to hear, too," said Ginny.

"You two are just trying to take my mind off things," Hermione said. Then she sat up a little straighter. "It's working. What'd you want to know?"

 _Why would the Ministry of Magic be torturing one_? Harry wanted to ask. Instead, he just murmured, "Anything."

Hermione launched into a lecture that Harry tried to focus on, but found almost mind-numbingly dull. He entertained himself by watching Ginny out of the corner of his eye. Truthfully, he'd done a lot of reading these last weeks on house-elves in general, and did not think he'd learn anything new.

"Anyone else cold?" he murmured. Before either of them answered, he lit a fire in the grate, and then sat back to watch it play on Ginny's hair. The conversation segued from house-elves to Quidditch to Hermione's job, and it wasn't until a casual glance at his watch had his eyebrows winging upward. It was past midnight.

The front door slammed open and then shut and Ron stumped into the room with dirty Knight Bus robes and a worried look on his face. "Hermione!" he said with great relief. "Are you all right?"

He began pressing kisses to her face in an increasingly uncomfortable way. Harry stood, and looked regretfully at Ginny.  _Tomorrow_ , he mouthed. He needn't have bothered being quiet. Ron and Hermione were both so wrapped up in each other that a herd of erumpents could have stampeded through the sitting room, and they would've been ignored. Both Harry and Ginny slipped out of the room and parted ways without a comment from the other two. He allowed himself to hug her, hold on to her for the space of a few breaths.

"Good night, Harry," she said. Her words whispered over him, made goosebumps rise up on his arms.

Harry went immediately into his room, changed, and got into bed. He closed his eyes, but instead of reaching for sleep, he relived the best parts of his day. Ginny with him under the Cloak, pressed up against him, stroking his knee… the feel of her bottom against his chest… it was further proof that his libido was back that he did not have to do anything but relive those moments and he was hard.

He used another pillow to prop himself up more fully. Stroking himself lightly through his pajama bottoms, he focused on how she'd felt up against him, and that subtle shiver she'd made when he stroked her arm. When he freed himself and wrapped his hand around it, his thoughts grew much less innocent. He imagined being back in Ginny's little cottage, picking her up in his arms, and carrying her behind the curtain that led to her bed.

_She reached for him, and he covered her with his body. They kissed, and their hands roamed. She shivered under him as their clothes disappeared—_

Harry rubbed the tip with his thumb, and sighed.

 _She was beautiful, wearing green – no, black! – lingerie that cupped all the places Harry wanted to touch. They vanished – no, Harry undid her bra – no,_ she  _undid her bra—_

His hand tightened around his shaft as, in his imagination, she did. Pumping up and down, his eyes fiercely closed, wishing it were real.

- _he slid into her. Hot and wet. She shivered again and again under him. Her hands clutching at his back as he moved—_

He held himself back, fist tight around the base, as he repeated the fantasy.

_Her legs wrapped around his, she rocked against him. Hot and wet. They were kissing, and he caught his name on her lips._

Harry pumped his fist, the Ginny of his imagination surging against him as he entered her over and over again for the first time. With a grunt, Harry came and sagged against the pillows. The heat of his fantasy receded slowly. It took an extraordinary amount of effort to scrabble at the bedclothes for his wand, clean up his mess, and get his breathing back to normal. Despite the intensity of his climax, Harry felt an emptiness after. It gnawed at him like a stomach ache, wishing his fantasy was real, and she was next to him.

 _Hopefully,_ he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"I'm almost certain it's the potions ingredients that have gone off," Harry said. He was pacing in front of her desk. "I saw it myself at the apothecary – the proprietor had to chip away at billywig sting slime… it was like sludge. I'm willing to bet I'm right. It would explain why some potions work –  _some_ of the ingredients aren't off – and some don't. You know it's—"

Ginny cut in. "I agree with you."

Harry whirled to look at her. "You do?"

"Yeah, I do," she said. She'd pinned her hair up again today; a long tendril had escaped and curled around her neck. Harry stared at it a moment, distracted.

"So what do we do now?" he asked. "I mean – what do we do?"

"We have to build the case," she said simply.

If Harry had been hoping it would be a simple matter of identifying a few ingredients that weren't right, he very quickly realized his mistake. Ten minutes later, they were all gathered in the former sanctuary, drinking strong coffee, while Ginny coordinated their efforts with the cool of a general.

"We'll go to all the apothecaries we can," she said. "Neville, Luna, take notes. Focus on one or two ingredients at each one. We have to prove what we think is true with as much evidence as possible." She spread her hands, looking at Neville and Luna. "You know where your strengths are; if we're right, there are plenty of ingredients that have gone off."

For the next week, that's all they did. Every day, piles of notes were assembled and organized. Harry looked through more potions books than he had during his entire time at Hogwarts, reading about the proper ingredients until his eyes were about to fail him. The evidence was there: the aconite at five different apothecaries more closely resembled shale; powdered bicorn horn no longer looked finely sifted, but clumped together; wormwood had sickly veins of green shot through it. Even more ingredients were only slightly off; Ginny was in charge of categorizing those.

Late Tuesday night, Harry groaned and stretched his legs out in front of him. Words were swimming in front of his eyes. Worse, he could hear Severus Snape's snide voice echoing about his head.  _If you'd paid more attention in my class, rather than resting on your fame to carry you through, you would already know all of this_. Harry twitched, and shoved some of the books he'd been poring over to the floor.

"You need a break," Ginny said.

Harry relaxed, not opening his eyes, and nodded. There'd been no time at all this week for anything other than preparing their article. The most they'd been able to do was exchange private glances. Harry couldn't help brushing her shoulder or playing with the ends of her hair or massaging her quill hand whenever he could. She gave these little touches back to him. Just last night, she'd come up from behind him and looped her arms around his shoulders. "I'm tired," she'd muttered against his neck.

"Is it always like this? When it's a big article?" Harry murmured. In the two months he'd been here, he'd not seen this level of activity. Even Luna seemed more focused and present than she normally did.

"Yeah, well, this is a big one," Ginny said.

"You're sure Tiberius can't help?" This was at least the fourth time he'd asked this.

"I wish," she said. "But he's a businessman. I'm sure he already knows what's going on. He'd be pretty invested in keeping it quiet."

Harry nodded.

"I think we should take an hour," Ginny offered. "Take a break, take a shower—"

"—feed the pets," Luna said.

"We have pets?" Harry said blankly.

"No, but if we did, now would be the time to feed them," said Luna.

Instead of going back to Grimmauld Place for a shower, Harry took a restless walk outside. It was cold; he could smell snow in the air. He walked in deliberate, widening circles around the church, settling his anxious thoughts.  _We're doing the right thing_ , he told himself. The witches and wizards that lived in the British Isles deserved to know that the ingredients they were buying weren't going to be effective in their potions. This certainty relaxed him enough that he felt prepared to get to work as soon as he stepped back inside the church.

"All right," said Ginny. Her hair was damp from a shower, and hung in dark red strands down her back. "Let's get started on  _writing_ the damn article."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The day after they published their article and sent the news that potions were not as effective as before because the ingredients used in them were no longer as potent winging about the British Isles, Harry found himself wide awake early in the morning. It was his first thought to perfect his fantasies of Ginny, but he was much too keyed up to do that. Despite the early morning, he threw his clothes on and headed out the door.

He found himself in Hogsmeade, thinking he might have a chat with Dumbledore before he could reasonably turn up at the turnip church. They'd had a late night getting everything ready to send; Ginny'd nearly fallen asleep over the last bit of edits they needed to do. In fact, Harry's eyes felt scratchy and burned a little from not having slept long enough, but he knew he couldn't be penned in any longer.

The news was out there.

Even now, people would be waking up to the  _The Turnip_ being brought to them by owl.  _It's my first_ real  _article,_ he justified all this excitement to himself. It had the most potential for repercussions. An old thought – that Harry really needed to show the other turnips his model of the church, and how the wards could be bolstered – surfaced, and he determined that he would do that as soon as he arrived that day.

He turned up the road, thoughts still miles away. There was someone walking ahead of him, a vague, shadowy shape, still indistinct in the new dawn.

"We should really put it under the Fidelius Charm," Harry muttered to himself. He was distracted for a few moments. His legs were longer than whoever it was ahead of him – he was almost positive it was a woman. There was a particular way witches walked that Harry had always quite enjoyed. He watched for a moment or two, then his thoughts drifted back to the Fidelius, and how feasible it would be to contain  _The Turnip_ headquarters inside a single soul. Harry didn't know how the particulars worked; it might be much too complicated.

The witch ahead of him gave a little skip, as though she tripped on a rock but managed to turn the stumble into something slightly more graceful. Her cloak was long enough to trail on the ground, but it was not very thick, Harry realized. They walked a little way up the lane; Harry hoped she knew someone was behind her. It wasn't safe to be so unaware of the fact one was being followed, even if Harry had only the best of intentions.

A strand of bright red hair escaped from the cloak she wore, and Harry felt a surge of pure pleasure. In moments, he'd caught up to her.

"Hey, Ginny," he said.

"Hey, Harry," she said, not at all surprised. "I thought that was you back there."

He was very, very glad that he'd been too anxious to sleep much. It no longer seemed at all important that he see Dumbledore right this minute. "Are you coming to visit the baby thestral?" he asked.

She nodded.

They walked in quiet, companionable silence all the way to the bottom of the steps, where a house elf met Ginny with a pail of raw meat. Their arms brushed often, though they didn't link hands until they were at the bottom of the hill, near Hagrid's hut, and the statue of him, Grawp, and Fang.

It was as though still night under the canopy of the Forbidden Forest. Harry took the pail from Ginny's hand, and she lit the tip of her wand so they could see where they were going. Her fingers were warm in his, but he wanted to feel more of her. When she helped him over a log, using her body to brace him, he wanted to wrap his arms around her.

"Are you nervous?" Ginny asked softly, breaking a long silence. There were long shadows on her face.

"Nervous?" Harry asked. He was, slightly. He didn't know whether she wanted all that much contact, or if she was just going along with it. "A little bit," he admitted.

"I think it just depends on how much the Ministry knows about it," Ginny said.

Harry's step faltered.  _Right. The Ministry. Potions_. Their conversation during the evidence gathering days of the last week had gone round and round in circles on that. Did the Ministry know that some magical ingredients were losing their potency? Had they already seen the pattern that seemed so obvious now that Harry thought about it?

"It could go either way, I think, but both you and Neville would know better," Harry admitted.

"Watch out," Ginny warned, and he ducked a low branch.

"I guess we'll know pretty soon," said Harry.

"It'll be in the  _Evening Prophet_ ," said Ginny. Even with the wandlight flickering over her face, Harry could see the little smile on her face. An answering one curved his own lips. The  _Daily Prophet_  had been bested by  _The Turnip_. This was not a new occurrence, but Harry'd never been a part of it before.

All too soon, they were in the clearing, and Ginny was murmuring gently to the baby thestral who was so locked in his own pain he couldn't age. Harry watched her move gently back and forth, saying nothing but kind things, her competitive attitude toward  _The Daily Prophet_ forgotten. He didn't bother trying not to stare at her. More tendrils had fallen out of the hood of her cloak and brushed the loamy ground of the forest and catching up leaves. The baby thestral lapped at the food Ginny held in her hands.

"All done," Ginny said cheerfully. She'd just finished scrubbing her hands of raw meat and blood.

"Wait," Harry said. He took a step closer to her. "You have some leaves in your hair," he told her. And before she could take care of it herself, he gathered up her hair in his hands and pulled each bit of leaf, and taking his time doing it. The world narrowed until it was just the two of them. Their bodies were close enough that whenever she breathed, he could feel it. He could feel the warmth coming off her body. And he could see when her pulse sped up just a little bit. Their eyes met then, and held. The hand not in her hair stroked over her upper arm; when her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted, Harry kissed her.

He felt her inhale quickly, and then she was kissing him back.

In the quiet and privacy of the forest, without the guilt of deceiving her, Harry kissed her for long, long minutes. Their lips slid together in an easy dance. The air began to pulse with heat around them, in time with the growing need of his body. It was the only thing he held back from her, even when she wrapped her arms tightly around him, tracing heat on his back with every brush of her fingertips.

His hands were in her hair, stroking her back, and then cupping her jaw. His thumbs brushed her jaw. "Ginny," he murmured, shivering when her tongue tangled with his.

The air continued to pulse along with his erection, the one he was trying to keep her from feeling. Harry was aching to make a bed of their cloaks here on the forest floor. He lost focus on her kisses; his fingers trembled on her waist, gripping, and moving upward toward the breasts pressed so perfectly against him. Restless, he ran his hands up and down her back. He plucked at the tie on her cloak, pushing it off her shoulders, and letting it float to the ground. They could cast a Cushioning Charm, anything, he'd make it as perfect as he could—

"Harry!" she gasped out, turning her face away, breaking the kiss. "I can't – I haven't – I haven't  _done_ this before." Harry took a small step back, taking in air, gaze lingering on how disheveled and fierce and vulnerable she looked. Her eyes were bright, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"I—"

"Don't apologize," she said, biting her lip. "It's not that – I lost my head – I just can't  _can't…_ not here."

Harry blinked away images of him making love to her on a pile of discarded cloaks, and realized that no amount of charms could make this an ideal spot for that. At least his first time, such as it was, had been in a bed. That memory further dampened his ardor, and he let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was… thinking."

"To be fair, I almost let you," said Ginny. She spread her hands. "I just… need a little more time?"

Harry squatted down and retrieved her cloak for her, dusting off the leaves and dirt. By the time he stood up, his body was back to normal, though he knew it would not take much to arouse him. But if Ginny needed time, he'd give it to her, of course.

He'd wait.

They walked hand in hand all the way back to Hagrid's hut.

"Are you mad?" she asked bluntly, when they stood in front of Hagrid's statue, disentangling from one another before anyone saw.

"Not at all… I wasn't thinking – are  _you_ mad?" Harry asked.

She shook her head. Her eyes never left his. Then she moved up the incline, leaned toward him, and kissed him lightly. "Not mad," she said. "Want to go find some breakfast somewhere?"

"Yes."


	17. Chapter 17

Over the next week, Harry only had two opportunities to test his self-control while kissing Ginny. The first was on Tuesday, Harry'd been going through an old book of poems supposedly written by a house-elf, Ginny'd come into his office, and they'd had enough time to be near each other long enough that Harry was confident in kissing her.

This, the second time, was Friday, and Ginny'd just returned from two days in Ireland, scouring the country for a Black Dog that was frightening wizarding enclaves all over the island. Harry'd wanted to go with her, but Luna and Neville had looked at him as though he were mental when he suggested it. "Ginny doesn't need help with a Black Dog," said Neville, as though mystified. "Just stay here. You can keep at that house elf article you want to write."

While it was true he wanted to gather his thoughts enough to write a coherent article, Harry also wanted to at least be in the same country as Ginny as he did so.

It was a long couple of days.

"I missed you," Harry said, wrapping his arms around her. There was a happy burning in her eyes that made him want to kiss her. He was stroking her back and tangling his fingers in her hair when an owl swooped in the open window and interrupted them by dropping a vial of potion right on his head.

Harry swore, and caught it after it bounced off his shoulder. "Damn it," he swore, but with little heat. He ought to have expected it –  _The Turnip_ was always receiving messages, but ever since the potions article had been published, they'd arrived in a swarm.

"Oh, it's from Tiberius," Ginny said, surprised. She'd unrolled a tiny scroll. "He just says:  _Thank you for shedding light on an issue that affects my life's work. Please enjoy a token of gratitude._ "

"Tiberius?" Harry said, immediately interested. "He doesn't know you're, well, you, does he?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not a clue. I didn't even know he was on our list of subscribers. What's the potion?"

Harry turned the small vial over in his hand, squinting to read the tiny print. Then he gave a low whistle. "It's Felix Felicis!" Their eyes met with a shock of excitement. Harry'd never been much of a potioneer – in fact, he'd only been accepted into the N.E.W.T. program at Hogwarts because the professors had quietly deemed Umbridge's sojourn at the school enough of a menace for the students that they dropped their standards. But even he had heard of Felix Felicis, known as liquid luck.

Ginny reached out. Instead of taking the vial from him, she traced her fingers over it. Heat, banked by the arrival of the owl, sprang back up between them. Harry had the sudden urge to unstopper it and tip it into his mouth.  _Felix would surely help out with the privacy issue_ , he reasoned. They'd done a whole section on it his seventh year. He'd obsessed over it a little, actually, thinking it could help him with Voldemort.

" _We've just been learning about it," Harry told Dumbledore, pacing the office, shaking a little with excitement. "It's helped loads of people, what if it helped_ us? Liquid luck _, they call it. Who else needs luck more than we do?" Words were coming out of him in a steady stream. "It could help us with Voldemort, it could help with Sirius… just… everything!" Every nerve was tingling, certain he'd uncovered something Dumbledore had overlooked. "And you know I wouldn't misuse it. It's just like the Mirror of Erised! All I want is for Voldemort to be gone. That's all I'd focus on, you know I would!"_

_Dumbledore gave him a grave look. "Oh, Harry, my boy. I understand the temptation."_

_The words sank his spirits, but excitement bolstered them back up again. "It's not temptation, I swear. It's not. You_ know  _that. It's a useful tool, that's all. I wouldn't even have to take it!_ You  _could take it; you want Voldemort gone as much as I do!" He clutched at his hair, then touched his scar. "Dumbledore, the stories told—"_

"— _are almost exclusively about smaller, more privately placed bouts with extreme luck," said Dumbledore. It was when Dumbledore's face sagged with true disappointment that Harry sank into a chair._

" _I know it's illegal to use it during Quidditch or – or other sporting events," Harry said._

" _It is indeed illegal to use during such," Dumbledore agreed. His eyes closed. "Those are not – as much as I enjoy watching Gryffindor win, Quidditch matches… are not an example… using Felix Felicis to help defeat Voldemort is several orders of magnitude greater than any other example I could come up with."_

" _Have you ever taken it?" Harry asked, curious._

" _Once," said Dumbledore._

Dumbledore'd never told him what happened when he took it, had only explained that liquid luck imbued one with a confidence that could prove fatal. "Luck isn't everything," he'd said, finally. Harry'd resented that for a couple of weeks, until they'd begun learning about what could go wrong with the potion.

Harry was lost in the memory for only moments. Ginny's hand was still on his, and both their heads were bowed over it. He couldn't help but wonder if her thoughts had strayed where his had – not to Dumbledore, but to him. The desire to take tip it back in his mouth lingered.  _Could be that it doesn't even work right, anyway,_ Harry thought.

"Well, that's a tempting little vial," said Ginny, and gave him a rueful look.

"Yeah," Harry said on a sigh.

Her brown eyes were wide and intent, searching for something in his. Harry held absolutely still. Then the quality of her smile changed.

"There's a Harpies match tomorrow," she said in a quiet voice.

It was not what Harry'd expected her to say just then.

"Do you want to go with me?" she asked.

"Oh!" Harry said. Then, hastily: "Yes! Yes, I do." In fact, it sounded wonderful.  _A true date,_ he thought. They'd spent all sorts of time together – they'd technically gone on a date to Godric's Hollow, and they'd shared several meals. But this. This was different. "Yeah, I – where is it? Do I need to get tickets? They won't have sold out, will they?" Going to a Quidditch match with Ginny. No work, no curses… just them, and hundreds of other fans.

"I think we can just buy tickets at the door," said Ginny. "I've been to some of their matches, I don't think they ever sell out. The match is in Portshead this time." Her smile widened. "I don't think we even need the Blind Bowlers, if you go as August—"

"I don't want to go as August," Harry said. Disappointment dampened some of his excitement. "Can't we use the Bowlers?"

"I – yes," Ginny said. "I should have – sorry—"

"No, no, I just…" But he couldn't quite get the thought that he didn't want to go out on a date with her as August. The Blind Bowlers would mask them from everyone else, but the enchantment would allow her to see him.

The thought was still stuck in his head, stupidly refusing to come out, when Ginny rose up on tiptoes and kissed him. Bit by bit, the feel of her lips on his caused it to waft away, out through his ears. There was no room for it, not with his hands on her back and in her hair.

She pulled away.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she said. "We'll meet here, and…"

"Yeah," said Harry, still quite dazed.

The next morning, he showed up in more casual robes than what he usually wore to the church. Mist hung over the forest, clinging to the trees, and giving the church an ethereal look, blurring it around the edges. Tucking aside the sudden thought that he was stepping inside a painting, he took an eager breath, and went inside.

Ginny sat cross-legged on the table, wearing Harpy colors, and had her hair tied back with what must be official merchandise: a tiny harpy, the team mascot, flew in tight circles around her bun.

"You're early," she said, smiling at him.

"Just a little," he said. He waved at the stack of mail in her lap. "More gifts?"

"Yeah, a couple," she said. After fumbling around a stack of scrolls, she drew out a small figurine. It was a carousel with magical creatures that swirled and winked. "We got this from W.A.D.A!"

"What is it? A figurine?" he asked. "What's W.A.D.A?"

"Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts," she said. "It's not a figurine – it's one of their plays!"

Harry looked at it, suddenly more interested. He knew what a play was, of course. He'd never been to one – the Dursleys had made every effort to ensure he enjoyed himself as little as possible – but he'd heard of them, had seen the flyers. Harry peered at the figurine, feeling an old, old wonder at the sheer magic of the wizarding world.  _An entire play_ , he thought _, encased in that tiny figurine_.

"The director – Herbert Beechy – hardly ever lets any of these things get out," she said. "They're monstrously expensive. Makes me wonder what kind of issues he's been having that he appreciated the warning about potions ingredients."

"What kind of play is it, do you know?" Harry asked.

"I won't know until I open it," she said. "See all the different creatures? Each one of those represents a different play…"

Harry's eyebrows raised. "That's an amazing bit of magic," he said.

Ginny chuckled. "Says the man who can call down lightning." When Harry opened his mouth to tell her it was different, that the small bits of magic in everyday use were a more profound example of how the wizards different from the Muggles, the quality of her smile changed. "I know, it's different. I knew what you meant."

She brushed some scrolls off the table she was sitting on, and patted the spot she'd cleared. Harry hopped up.

"We've still got a bit of time," she said. "Might as well make headway on this pile."

Harry sorted through the more mundane pledges to subscribe to  _The Turnip_. One of them made him give a low whistle. "This one just gave us 500 galleons!" he said. A money-pouch, charmed to be weightless, fell out onto his lap. He read the accompanying scroll. " _My dear fellows at_ The Turnip,  _please accept this small token… it's the least I can do… Yours, Vina Ogden_. From the firewhiskey?"

"Yes, she sends us something like this almost every time we write a big article," said Ginny. "She was one of our first subscribers, actually. We always send a thank you letter, have we told you about those yet? We have a rotation."

"I haven't heard that yet, but I'd be happy to," Harry said.

The next letter wasn't nearly so welcome. Harry recognized the hand-writing; it'd become all too familiar. As usual, there was nothing in the letter that was blatantly insulting. " _Well done on the article,"_ he read. " _Again, I would like to offer my services as more than a consultant to_ The Turnip.  _My husband and friends all read it; it was engrossing, though I did wonder why this took so long to come out. We all look to your establishment for news, and we've all done the math, and the problem with the potions (or their ingredients, as you were quick to differentiate) began at least three months ago. No one is blaming you – no one is perfect! However, I get funny feelings sometimes (my grandmother was a licensed Seer), and I'm certain we could have cracked this open much sooner if you'd shared this puzzle with me."_

"Harry, stop, I'm begging," Ginny said, covering her eyes.

Harry laughed and continued: " _There were some flaws in the writing itself, but it was general consensus that it was very informative. I just wish we'd learned of this sooner; a lot of us depend on potions. Please, think of my offer. I can help you."_

Ginny groaned.

Harry laughed again and threw the scroll on the floor with the others. He grabbed the next one. As they read together, waiting until they could leave to see the Quidditch match, the morning mist turned into a drizzle. Harry lit a fire in the barely-used grate, and it warmed their backs. It seemed most people were thankful; an over-whelming amount of scrolls and gifts arrived, and at least five more owls swooped in while they were sitting there.

They were rather close together, to his contentment. Her thigh pressed against his, and they shared the notes they were reading back and forth. Something light filled him when he realized that in just a couple of hours, he would have her next to him at a Quidditch match. They wouldn't have the distraction of work; her hands would not be occupied with scrolls and parchment and pouches of galleons – Harry would be able to hold them. It was the very opportunity he'd been wanting to have with her, he realized. The Quidditch match would be crowded enough with people that it would give them a certain amount of privacy, as converse as that sounded. No one would block him from her. Yes, it was exactly the opportunity he'd needed.

So lost in these blissful thoughts was he that he didn't notice that Ginny'd grown quiet. "Almost time for the match, eh?" he said, grinning. But when he looked over at her, her brows were drawn together, her cheeks were pale, and the parchment she was reading shook slightly.

"Harry, read this," she said. Her eyes were wide and tight around the corners.

Harry read it. As he did, his stomach dropped, and the excitement wafted away. It only took him three or four sentences to realize there would be no Quidditch match today. He pushed the disappointment aside, and looked at her. There was nothing sexual about the way their eyes lingered on one another; this was about shared experiences.

"Let's gather up everything we need," said Ginny, shoving herself off the table. "I'll change robes – you can go like that, I think. We'll need some of the dark detectors in the back room; you get them while I change."

A witch believed her grandchild was possessed, and the Ministry had ignored her pleas for help.

They had to go.


	18. Chapter 18

Ginny was summoning things left and right. She held out a plain black bag, and the various items fell into it. "We'll need this," she said. Instead of using magic, she carried an ornate looking brass instrument. To Harry, it looked like an actual instrument; it had the vague shape of a violin. In lieu of strings, there were threads of pure magic.

"What is that?" Harry asked. Her fingers caressed the spine of it almost lovingly.

A flicker of guilt flickered over her face, surprising him. "It detects dark magic," she said. "I – erm –  _might_ have stolen it from my dad. He – after Moody… he went to Moody's house in order to try to find out what happened, and ended up bringing home the more sensitive items he found." She rubbed the brassy sheen, leaving fingerprints behind, then pointed out each string of magic. "This one will show if there is dark magic around. You don't have to use your wand, just your fingers. The second one reveals where it's coming from. The third makes everything go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" Harry asked. He stared at the instrument, fascinated.

"You'll see – it's hard to explain," said Ginny. "There are several things that can possess someone – trust me, I know all of them – and this instrument will detect all but one or two."

Their eyes met and lingered. They were making a lot of new memories together, but that didn't erase the fact that for a long time, Harry's most powerful memory of her was of Tom Riddle possessing her. It was reverberating between them until Harry could nearly smell the dank Chamber of Secrets, and the over-powering, reptilian scent of the basilisk.

"We may have to contact Dumbledore," he said.

"If it's an evil memory?" asked Ginny.

Harry spread his hands. If there were another Horcrux to destroy – no matter who made it – Dumbledore would need to be told immediately.

"I agree," said Ginny. "Cheer up, though," she said. "It could just be the Imperius Curse. Or a revenant."

They exchanged grim smiles. Neither one of those options were all that much better than a Horcrux.

Harry added a couple of Firebolts to the bag, and they were ready to go.

"Ready?" Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. "Ready."

The Abernathy family lived in a small house so new it fairly sparkled. It was in the sort of wizarding enclave that reminded him that there were some witches and wizards who shared personality traits with the Dursleys. The grounds and homes were even more rigidly maintained than the one where the mysterious Tonks had lived. Even the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, as though the neighborhood had bullied it into shining every Saturday morning, despite the fact everywhere else in England was raining. It was hard to believe that darkness could flourish in a place like this, if only because the other home owners along this quiet, rigidly perfect-looking street would refuse to allow it tarnish the value of their homes.

Harry adjusted the Blind Bowler he used despite the fact he'd transformed into August just before they left the church.  _A disguise on top of a disguise_ , Ginny insisted.

She brought out the brassy instrument. Instead of lifting it to her chin, as its shape would suggest, she held it in front of her midsection like a guitar. Her thumb touched the string of magic…

It didn't make a sound, but Harry felt it nevertheless. Goosebumps erupted on his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. A chill wind was blowing now. A dark speck appeared above the house and started to whirl. More darkness gathered to it, and resolved into a cloud. The day which had been so bright turned gloomy. Shadows lengthened. The house before them had spots of rot under the windows that grew like vines.

Harry shuddered.

In the next moment, Ginny plucked the third string, and then everything abruptly went back to the way it had been when they arrived. True astonishment engulfed Harry, and he stared at her. "That's…" Powerful. Useful. Amazing. Truly. But his mouth opened and closed as his mind couldn't choose just one word.

"I know," Ginny nodded. "Well, now we know there is something dark working here… the witch who contacted us made it seem like no one else was believing her."

Harry looked at the windows, remembering the rot that had begun to grow around them. "Yeah, well, she won't have to worry we won't believe her." Harry opened the gate for her, and they walked up the path to the door. He pushed aside his nerves and rang the bell.

The door was already opening before the chimes faded.

A witch of some indeterminate age – if Harry had to guess at it, he would've gone with something in between sixty and eighty – poked her head out. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, but she still appeared healthy and fit. Hair flowed in tight curls of varying shades of grey over her shoulder. "You're from the Ministry?" she said in a hoarse voice. There were pink smudges around her eyes, as though she'd been crying.

"No,  _The Turnip_ ," said Ginny.

"Oh thank Merlin," the witch said with great relief. "The Ministry already came by… they just interviewed me, then told me Anise was just growing, and I'd be fined next time I wasted their time. Please come in. I'm Rowena Abernathy. Named after Ravenclaw, you know, but I didn't land in that House. I was in Hufflepuff, to my father's disappointment…"

Harry looked around curiously, only paying half attention to the witch. While the outside of the house was tidy and maintained enough to belong on Privet Drive, the inside… would not. It was crammed with furniture of all types. The sitting room did not have an inch of spare wall; wardrobes and cupboards loomed over the sitting area, three high-backed chair blocked the low windows, and every flat surface had lamps of all different kinds – one end table had no less than three.

"You said in your letter that your granddaughter has some symptoms of possession?" Ginny asked.

Harry pulled to attention at that.

"It's – ever since we moved here, she hasn't been herself," Rowena said, tugging at her ash grey hair. "Come to the kitchen, I'll tell you everything."

Harry noted that they hadn't lived there long. Most of the causes of possession were due to a cursed object – including Horcruxes. Perhaps it was something the prior tenants had left behind.

"Do you know who lived here before you?" Ginny asked. Her thoughts had clearly been marching in step with his.

"I rightly don't – I—"

Harry stopped in his tracks, feeling a stab of pure fear right in his belly.  _It's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong_ , his mind was chanting. It took a few seconds of disorientation for him to realize he'd caught sight of a mirror. The fear was seeping away slowly.  _It was just her granddaughter_ , he told himself. It was the mirror and the light playing tricks on him, telling him he was seeing a little girl with a terrible smile doing an impossible handstand on the stairs.

There was a smudge on the mirror in the shape of a handprint. He followed Ginny and Rowena into the kitchen, telling himself that what he thought he'd seen was brought on by nerves. His mind was playing tricks on him; all he'd seen was that smudge on the mirror.

The kitchen was likewise filled with furniture and odds and ends. Three more mirrors hung at different points on the wall, two dining room tables were squashed together, and various potted plants and mismatched chairs clustered against the back wall.

Harry avoided looking in the mirrors. "Can you tell me – us – what symptoms of possession your granddaughter is showing?" Ginny shot him a look.  _Calm down_ , Harry told himself. "Please," he added, a bit more gently.

"Ever since we moved in here, she's been saying odd things," said Rowena. She spoke very quickly. "And she's very sleepy all of a sudden. Always taking naps at odd hours – she's six! She hasn't napped since she was three, I know, I used to tell her parents—" Her voice cut off and her face crumpled, as though she'd just unintentionally done herself some grave injury.

"Her parents?" Harry asked.

"Yes, they're gone," said Rowena.

"When did they pass?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, they didn't, but they might as well have," Rowena said. Her voice was bitter as almonds. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she looked old. "They weren't  _Death Eaters_ , or anything." Cold settled in Harry's stomach. "But they were – you know, he was my own child. I never finished Hogwarts, I got pregnant with him and my parents wouldn't let me go back. I've got my O.W.L.S., though. I raised him as best I could, but he always just respected my husband more." The words were flowing out of her. Harry didn't know if she even knew what she was saying. "My son and his wife – they prospered a few years back."

 _When Voldemort was in charge,_ Harry thought.

"I know… at  _The Turnip_ … you don't like that darkness," Rowena said. She spread her hands and looked at them with pleading eyes. "My son didn't do anything  _bad_ ," she insisted. "He just…  _prospered_."

Rowena's son was not the only one who had. This was part of the problem with the Ministry. The corruption lasted partly because people didn't want to lose the power they'd gathered under Voldemort. "Was he… arrested?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no, of course not, nothing like that," Rowena said. "I told you, he didn't do anything  _bad_."

The hair on the back of his neck prickled again, and he exchanged a glance with Ginny. Rowena was so strictly maintaining her line that her son hadn't done anything bad that it was becoming harder to believe. Harry peered at her, wishing, suddenly, that he'd had any sort of aptitude for Legilimency. He rocked back on his heels. Rowena's faded brown eyes were wide; there were no lies in them.

"He and his wife left for South America almost two years ago," Rowena said. "They left Anise with me, said they only had to get away, clear their heads, and consider their career options. But… then…"

"What happened?" Ginny asked.

Rowena lifted her shoulders. "They just never came home," she said, helpless. "Anise and I had to move… we couldn't afford to live in our old place anymore. See, my husband died a while ago… my son and his wife were living with me. It was a much bigger place, you see, but Anise and I didn't have the galleons to keep it, just the two of us."

Harry looked at her, feeling a large amount of pity. Widowed and abandoned by her son, she'd taken on raising her granddaughter. For an ephemeral moment, his memory flickered to his grandmother, Euphemia Potter. Would she have taken him in like Rowena did Anise? Surely she would have.  _Focus, Harry_.

"Did you hear from them again?" Ginny asked. Her brow was wrinkled.

"We heard from them for a few months," Rowena said, slumping. "Then the owls stopped coming, and when I tried to Floo them at their hotel, they'd gone. I used too much gold to get a Portkey to Patagonia, but I had to. Anise needs her parents." She sighed heavily. "I tracked 'em best I could. I kept hearing about 'em, but I always just missed them."

Harry's pity grew. Likely, his son and the wife had stayed one step ahead of her on purpose.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said softly. "I know this must be painful for you to talk about."

Rowena swiped at her eyes. "Ah, well, they'll turn up again one day." There was a peculiar note in her voice; Harry did not think Rowena's son would find her easy to manipulate once he returned.  _If_ he returned.  _What kind of man abandons his family?_ he thought.  _His mum and his daughter?_

"Can we see Anise?" Ginny asked.

"She'll be sleeping," Rowena said. "It's only when she wakes up that sometimes things get... funny." She gave them both a stern look. "I may not have any N.E.W.T.s, but I know what possession looks like. Sometimes… she's not my little granddaughter."

"I believe you," said Ginny.

Rowena told them enough about her granddaughter's behavior in the past few weeks that Harry's pity was pushed aside by foreboding. "Sometimes she sounds American," said Rowena. "Her granddaddy was American, but he never sounded like it. He came over here when he was just a young thing." Her eyes filled with tears again. "And sometimes she – she's so  _angry_ at her father." At Harry's look, she flushed. "She should be angry with him, but not – not  _this_ kind of angry. It – it's… evil. She gets cold and… I heard her muttering the other day…" She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders quivered. "She is planning to  _murder_ him, I know she is. Before we moved here, she hardly even mentioned her parents! She were three when they left."

"She doesn't mention her mother?" Ginny asked.

There was a sick feeling in his stomach. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye distracted him. There was a little girl in the mirror again; she sat in a mud-splattered dress. Her smile was so wide that blood oozed from little cuts on the sides of it. She winked at Harry and disappeared.

His eyes closed for a moment. This was no Horcrux.

"Can we see your granddaughter?" Harry asked.

Ginny gave him another look, a question in her eyes.  _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to tell her.  _I know what it is, and it's terrifying_. But he didn't want to alarm Rowena, just in case he was wrong. All his instincts were clamoring at him to pass this task along to Dumbledore, get Ginny out of the house, and get as far away as they could. Harry dismissed this. As they went up the stairs, Harry reminded himself of all the times he'd been in much more dangerous situations than this.  _You're just scared Ginny'll get hurt_ , he told himself.  _She won't thank you for that_.

He forced his shaking hands into the pockets of his robes.

And they stepped in.

There was a small lump in a bed that took up nearly the whole room. It was massive and carved of elder wood. The headboard had a gnome and a house-elf lazily tossing an apple back and forth, and a mirror hung above it. His eyes traveled around the room – taking in the bulky furniture that crowded in, the mirrors, the plants – and then went back to the girl. Ginny had already moved to stand beside her, and his stomach sank. It was her pallor that made him so uneasy. Ginny had creamy skin; up against her, the girl looked ghostly.

There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Fear tripped up his spine.

He looked at Rowena, brow furrowed. He asked rather desperately: "Did the – your son and his wife… where are their other children?" He couldn't deny what he'd seen and it was no trick of mirrors.

"They don't have any other children," Rowena said.

"That's—"

Something white arced across the mirror above the headboard.

"They wouldn't abandon  _one_ child and take the others," said Rowena. "I told you, they weren't – aren't  _monsters_."

Ginny rummaged through her bag and brought out a Sneakoscope. It immediately turned red and started to buzz.

"Are you lying to me?" Harry asked, wanting to believe she was. Rowena's eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically.

"What's going on, Chaser?" Ginny asked sharply.

"I keep seeing a little girl who's got to be Anise's twin sister," Harry said calmly. Now that he'd seen Anise, he knew how much she looked like the little girl he kept seeing in the mirror. Rowena seemed so kind; an older woman, abandoned by everyone but her granddaughter, but – what? Was she keeping Anise's twin in a cupboard under the stairs?

"Anise doesn't have any siblings," insisted Rowena.

Ginny was looking at him. Her face was now nearly as pale as Anise's. The brass instrument was in her hands. She plucked the first string.

The temperature dove. Rot spread out on the walls and ceiling. But Harry focused on Anise. The pallor of her face turned from alarming to ghastly. The flesh turned translucent; Harry could make out her skeleton, and the baleful fire of her eyes beneath closed eyelids. His thoughts scattered in fear. It was a revenant, and it had nearly full possession of a little girl.

Ginny plucked the second string.

Dark fire appeared at the edges of the mirror above the headboard. The blue and black flames waved and twisted and coalesced into a shadowy form of a small child with eyes of hate.

"Oh,  _shit_ ," Ginny swore. "It's—"

Then the child in the bed was laughing. Harry's stomach cramped. The laughter was  _wrong_. He made two great strides, leapt over an ottoman, and grabbed Ginny's elbow. She needed to get away from that bed – need to get away from that child –

"Oh  _you can see me_." The child sat up. Her eyes were white, and spittle hung out of her mouth. " _You can see me now!_ "

"The mirror!" Ginny cried.

The girl in the mirror was a shadow no longer; she looked very much like Anise, but her smile was too wide, her lips were too red, and her eyes were fathomless black.

Then the smile widened further, stretching the mouth until the red lips were black with blood. Cheeks sunk in, shadows gathered around the eyes, and Harry did the one thing he could think of: " _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

His stag appeared and charged the mirror, passing through it, and grappling with the revenant. Harry ripped the covers away, grabbed Anise, and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. They were all charging out of the room, fleeing down the stairs – Harry nearly fell, righted himself, and lurched and stumbled into the sitting room. Rowena sank onto the floor with a moan while Ginny stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide and shocked. She plucked the third string, and the world shifted into something brighter again. But the brightness was a mask. There was a fucking revenant in this house.

Harry settled Anise onto one of the over-stuffed chairs, placing her in direct sunlight, hoping it would help, and knowing it probably wouldn't.

"The fucking Ministry," Ginny said in a low, dangerous voice. "The fucking Ministry."

Harry knew exactly what she meant. The Ministry had sent someone here, and concluded that Rowena was just a dotty, lonely old woman, and her granddaughter was missing her parents. How had they not known?

Cold seeped down. His patronus had held the revenant off, but it couldn't last forever. Helpless and scared, Harry looked around the room, hoping some sort of clue would leap out at him.

"What was that?" Rowena cried. She was shuddering, and was now clinging to her granddaughter's leg. Anise stared straight ahead, eyes vacant.

"It's a revenant," Ginny said. Her voice wobbled only a little.

"A revenant?" Rowena cried. "But what's that?"

Revenants were the darkest of creatures. Like ghosts, they were the shades of someone who'd died. Like poltergeists, they could manipulate the physical world. They held grudges. They preyed on the living who had blood ties to them. When they possessed someone, they could wreak a lot of damage. His gaze flickered back to Anise. Her pallor was even more evident in the light. The revenant had stolen a lot of her life and spirit.

His stomach cramped, as he remembered Ginny's lifeless body as he'd battled the basilisk and the memory of Tom Riddle. A Horcrux was not very far removed from a revenant, not at all. In fact, the way they were made was not all that different. A revenant was a sundered soul, unable to move on from the earthly plane because of their own murder.  _It's usually a betrayal so great that it is incomprehensible to the soul,_ Harry remembered reading in his seventh year.  _They remain stuck in that memory of betrayal. The longer they exist, the greater their need for revenge_. Revenants had destroyed entire cities…

Instead of frightening him further, a coolness settled over his mind.

Ginny was explaining what a revenant was as Harry thought about what they had to do, what they had to find. There would be an object that linked the revenant to this plane. It had to be destroyed. More cold seeped down. Harry could see his breath. A large part of him wanted to set the entire house to flame. He thought of Fiendfyre… he knew the incantation.

 _Stupid,_ he told himself fiercely. That wouldn't do the little girl any good. The chunk of energy the revenant had taken out of her would die with it. Anise might never come back. He looked at Ginny. It was one way the Horcrux possessing her had been a kinder thing; destroying it brought her back.

"Rowena," he said, as gently as he could. "We need to know more about your family. Anise's family. You're sure her parents aren't dead."

"They aren't! They aren't dead!" Rowena cried.

"Chaser," Ginny said.

Harry shook his head. "A revenant can only possess someone related to them. A blood relation. If her parents have been dead this whole time… if perhaps they weren't actually just  _prospering_ under Voldemort, but had – had gotten in over their heads… revenants happen because of  _murder_."

"They're still alive, I swear it," Rowena said. She was now sobbing into her hands. "I lied! I saw them in Patagonia… I tried to get them to come back. They – they wouldn't – you're right, I think they – I think – they were afraid of the Ministry. Afraid of what would happen to them if they came back. My son was – was afraid of Azkaban. I told 'em – we'll get through it, we're a  _family_ , you can't just  _abandon your daughter_." These last words rang with truth. "I tried to get them to come back, for their daughter, for Anise. But what do I know, I never graduated Hogwarts, I just got pregnant instead."

"It's all right, Rowena," said Ginny.

What if the revenant had not taken on the looks of Anise? What if that was what it had looked like when it died? "Was there ever a little girl?" he asked desperately. "It would be in your family, or your husband's family. Anise is related to it somehow. They share blood, they have to." The words were running out of him.

"No, no, no," Rowena croaked. She shook her head violently. "I never had no daughter; I just had my son. I – wait." She stopped talking so abruptly it was as though she'd been struck. "Before – my husband had a sister."

"A sister?" Ginny asked. Her tone vibrated with intensity.

"I don't know the story," Rowena said helplessly. "My husband didn't know it either, it happened when he was a baby."

"Do you remember her name?" Harry asked. If they wanted to get rid of the revenant, they needed to know its name. They needed to know as much about it as they could – even more, they needed to know which object anchored it to this plane. "We have to know her name," he said.

"No, I – I don't think he ever told me," Rowena said. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she looked wrecked with fear. "I swear, he never told me. It was a tragedy. He always said his father was a broken man after that."

Harry swore silently.

"Well, we can at least look for the object," said Ginny.

"It's probably with my husband's stuff," Rowena said. Hysteria made her nearly incoherent. "We had that bigger house, my husband's family's stuff used to be in storage." She gestured around. "It's all here now."

"We'll find it," Ginny said. "I promise, we'll find it."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

The wardrobes were open, the cabinets had all their contents spilled out over onto the floor, the chair cushions were askew, and still, they'd not found anything likely. Anise looked worse by the moment. Once, Harry glanced over at her and had a terrifying thought that he was not going to be able to pull her out of this. He was in over his head, and Fawkes would not be there to save her.

 _Fawkes_.

"It's time to contact Dumbledore," Harry said. Ginny shot him a fleeting look. "Is that all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Ginny. Frost was climbing up the inside of the windows. Harry's heart thudded faster. The revenant was gathering power to itself, and the physical world was reacting to it.

He sent the patronus. Rowena still wept at her granddaughter's feet. And he continued to sack the room with renewed fervor.  _It's got to be here somewhere_ , he thought, hoping it was not upstairs. As he thought the words, there was the faint sound of breaking glass, and his heart nearly failed.

"Look faster!" Ginny cried.

A silvery phoenix popped into existence in front of him. "I will be there as soon as I am able," said Dumbledore's calm voice. "Should you need a reminder, the Psychismori would work if you have the revenant's focus."

Harry worked methodically through the room, his mind racing and tripping over his memories of his seventh year Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Revenants had been one of the last things that was covered. "Obviously, we can't  _show_  you a revenant," his professor had said. "The Ministry makes sure they're exorcised as soon as possible." Pictures were passed around of the terrible damage revenants could wreak if left unchecked. Harry's hands shook, thinking about it. As terrible as it was, if the revenant stole Anise's life and gained full power, it would not be the worst thing it would do.

"Aha! I think I've found it!" Ginny cried. She was on her hands and knees, and had a book open in front of her. Harry stared at it, uncomprehending. Her lips were tight and trembling. "It's a book. Of course it's a book."

Then she flicked her wand and a picture rose in front of them, flipping and twisting with the strength of Ginny's spell. The page it was on had a bright nickel frame; it reflected dark and twisted things. The photo itself was as ordinary as it could be. A very solemn looking little girl sat next to her mother on a tufted couch. The mother had a bundle in her arms, and a slight smile on her face. The father stood behind them, his hands on his wife's and daughter's shoulders.

"Psychismori," Ginny whispered.

"I'll do it," Harry immediately volunteered. The spell would force them into the moment that the soul was sundered and the revenant was created. If there was any way for them to find out the revenant's name in order to exorcise it, that would be it. But even experienced, Ministry officials had found themselves lost in those memories. It drove them mad, and they were lost.

There was no way he was risking Ginny to that. She gave him a fierce look, as though knowing his thoughts.

Harry's stomach twinged when he heard the unmistakable sounds of something coming down the stairs. Darkness crept up the walls like vines – or briars – locking them in the dark and cold. Harry suppressed a shudder, and moved to stand with Ginny, in front of Rowena and Anise.

"I could do the—"

"You'd need to be able produce a patronus," he said swiftly, desperately.

There was one moment where Ginny's face tightened, and then a chilling blankness settled over her features. "All right," she said in a flat voice. "I'll do the spell. You engage it." Then she grabbed a fistful of his robes, and pulled him down for a swift, hard kiss. "Do not lose yourself," she said after she pulled away.

"I won't," he promised.

He wished Dumbledore would somehow arrive before the revenant gathered enough of its power to confront them.  _Don't dwell on that_ , he told himself.  _We won't fail. We can't._ The dark briars reached the ceiling and began spreading across it. The temperature dropped. A chance glance behind him showed frost growing over Anise's face as though she were already dead.

An image of a much younger Ginny, ripped open from throat to belly, flashed across his mind.

The doorknob rattled. An unseen force pushed the door open. Ginny grabbed his hand, squeezing so hard his bones hurt. The photograph she held shook like a leaf, but her face was still a smooth mask. It was a little unsettling. Then he glanced at the door to the sitting room, saw what was reflected in the mirror, and his stomach curdled.

The revenant was neither flesh nor blood, and the way it moved down the stairs reminded Harry of his earliest days, watching poorly filmed television shows at the Dursleys – usually hiding behind the couch. It flickered and winked out of existence. Horror rose up; it would do terrible things once it gathered power enough to touch them. Madness. Death. It came closer and closer; the world around him got darker and colder. The only warmth was Ginny's hand in his.

" _She's dying!_ " Rowena shrieked.

The revenant surged into the room.

Gasping for air against the ice, Harry raised his arm… it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds…

Ginny managed to speak before he did, and the incantation that would give them their best chance against the revenant rang from her lips. All sound stopped at the force of Ginny's charm. Instinct had him closing his eyes, blinking away the shock.

It was one of the few ways to properly exorcise a revenant: casting the charm that would allow the witch or wizard to interact with spirit creature at the point it went from flesh and blood to an avatar of bloody vengeance. Harry forced his eyes open. Ginny had used the charm correctly, of course; all around him, were images his brain could not quite process.

_Two men – a little girl – an even littler boy asleep in a cot – a flash of green – the murderer slapping the other man on the shoulder – a forked tongue – the sign of the Hallows swinging back and forth like a pendulum—_

Harry took a step forward, eyes narrowing on the images he saw all around him.

There was a little girl who greatly resembled Anise, though with deliberate differences. This other girl's hair was a deep black, her chin slightly more pointed, and her eyebrows wider and thicker. There was horror in her eyes that reflected the horror she would become. Over and over again, her mouth opened and formed a sound Harry could not hear.

_Little girl dragged – those Hallows again – one of the men had hollow, vacant eyes and a forked tongue – she was thrown to the ground—_

Harry stared and stared and stared until he realized that one of the men he was seeing due to the charm Ginny'd cast was  _Grindelwald_. His heart nearly failed. This revenant was created by Grindelwald? His eyes widened until they burned around the edges.  _Dumbledore, where are you?_ he thought desperately.

"No one will save you now," the revenant said. It had a voice like glass breaking.

It wasn't even speaking to Harry. It spoke to the little girl who Grindelwald kept killing over and over again. The images were slightly more real now; instead of looking like reflections in a mirror, they looked like creatures made of something slightly more solid, like mist. The revenant knelt beside the little girl. "Your papa won't save you."

" _Papa! Don't go with him!_ " the little girl shouted, as though on cue.

"Don't be foolish, little girl," Grindelwald said. There was a threat lurking under the words.

"Don't be foolish," the other man said dumbly.

Revulsion stirred in Harry. The figures solidified further.

The scene repeated, and Harry watched with more clarity as the little girl begged her father not to leave, not to go with him. Distrust was writ plain on her face as she stared at Grindelwald. It was when the little girl ran after her father and into a storming night that the revenant began to laugh.

"Do you know I could have gone on?" it asked him directly.

Ice tripped down Harry's spine. "I know people are given the choice."

"Not everyone," said the revenant. "Only witches and wizards, or beings with similar magical capabilities can come back. Everyone else moves on."

Harry shuddered, remembering when he'd made a similar choice. Fingers squeezed his, and it startled him so badly he nearly dropped his wand. The scene before him had invaded his mind so thoroughly he'd forgotten that Ginny held his hand in hers. Her warmth pushed back some of the cold.

"I'm sorry you were murdered like that," Harry murmured. What else could he say? Grindelwald had murdered her to gain compliance from her father, almost certainly. It was a terrible thing; nearly as terrible as the creature before him.

Her black eyes widened. The shadows of unspeakable things swarmed in their depths; Harry forced himself not to look away.

"I died that day, yet I still live," it said. It circled him. It no longer flickered. Harry noted that it was more present here; this was the memory in which it lived. Some part of it had never left the night that a father let someone murder his daughter. It never would. It would seek revenge for that act until the sun grew cold and the earth died.

"A wizard very similar to the one who killed you murdered my parents when I was a baby," said Harry.

Its eyes widened for a moment.

The revenant was one of the greatest horrors Harry had seen or felt. It was all the more awful because it had the visage of a small girl. For the first time since he'd seen its face in the mirror, Harry thought he saw a flash of humanity in its face.

Ginny's voice chanted next to him, and the sitting room – which had begun to look quite wavy and indistinct – disappeared with a snap. Even though he'd been expecting it – he couldn't fight the revenant unless they were on the same plane of existence – his stomach dropped all the same.

Grindelwald and the little girl's father left her in the mud and rain.

The creature stood above her own body, smiling at him. Harry did not think he'd ever be able to forget that smile.

"My  _papa_ ," she said viciously. "He let me be murdered. I was confused for so long… how could he do that?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly.

Then they were in her little brother's room, watching him sleep in his cot. "Anise is  _his_ granddaughter, you know," it said, voice made of ice and hate. "I started following her in her dreams…" They both watched as the small boy started to cry, and the little girl rushed in to shush him. It was on the way out that she interrupted a meeting between her father and Grindelwald; no one was supposed to know they were working together. "Her parents abandoned her, it was so easy to give her dreams more like mine," it said with a shiver of delight.

"I know who he is!" the little girl shrieked, following her father into the storm and the night. "Papa! Why is he  _here_? Why is he at our house?!"

"Keep her quiet," Grindelwald ordered the father.

"Saletha, be quiet," the father said urgently. "You don't understand."

Harry was impressed by the little girl's bravery as she stood up to both her father and her father's master. It became apparent that she would not be reasoned with; Grindelwald's secrets were in danger of being exposed. He had a fleeting thought, but it was gone before he could articulate it.

"Do what you have to do," the father said.

Grindelwald finally drew his wand, there was a flash of green light, and the little girl was face-down in the mud. This time, he strained forward, eyes widening. He could  _see_ the decision she was making;  _NO I WON'T GO ON MY PAPA—_

She hadn't wanted to leave her papa. Despite the fact he'd just watched her be murdered, the little girl hadn't wanted to leave him.

"You see," the revenant said.

Harry was seeing strange shadows in the air around him. Voices were whispering to him; he couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

There was a man made of mist and shadows standing to the right of the revenant; he looked more like Harry than the revenant did Anise. "You have her name," he said in an echoing voice. Then he changed from a man to a stag, and brightened until Harry had to shade his eyes.

"NO!" the revenant shrieked. Harry's ears started to bleed.

"I NAME YOU SALETHA ABERNATHY!" Harry shouted. " _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ "

Another stag appeared – this time it was Harry's own patronus. It was identical to the other.

Darkness began to slough off the revenant in great chunks. The light of the patronuses was doing great damage to it; Harry couldn't look away. It was shrieking and twisting and fighting back. Silvery light battled with deep black, and Harry looked around, wishing another helper such as his father would suddenly appear. He did not think he could fight much longer… even now, his feet were sinking into the mud…

It was just then that a silvery doe appeared, leaping to add her power to Harry and James's stags. Eyes closed in relief, Harry could move again. Bit by bit, the darkness receded until he could see the pale, misty shape of a different little girl.  _Anise_ , he thought. Without thinking about it, without worrying, he grabbed Anise as though she were solid.  _I have her, I have her_ , Harry thought desperately at Ginny, hoping she could somehow read his mind.  _Drop the charm, we've got to get out of here!_

Harry did not open his eyes again for a very long time. When he finally did, he was more confused than he'd been in his life. A pretty woman with red hair looked at him; worry shone out of her eyes. He was in the oddest place… it was warm and sunlit, and filled with furniture. There was a little girl and what had to be her grandmother sobbing in each other's arms. His gaze kept drifting back to the pretty woman. Then, like a bolt of lightning, clarity came back to him.

He flopped back to the floor and groaned. "I guess we did it," he told Ginny. "How long was I unconscious?" It felt like weeks, but Harry supposed it might've only been a few hours."

"You only just fell over," Ginny told him. "I broke the spell, you fell over, and almost immediately opened your eyes." She gestured to the picture from the photograph album. It was encased in a silvery cloud of protective magic. The revenant was trapped in there. And Harry knew how to destroy it… the same things that could destroy a Horcrux.

Harry shook the cobwebs away. "Shit," he said, elongating the word.

"Revenants," Ginny said in a low voice.

Harry scrubbed his face. "That was… not something I want to do again." It was like madness, going into the moment in which a revenant was made. Harry did not think he would've made it out if he'd stayed much longer. His stomach rebelled, but Harry was enough himself again not to vomit. With minimal assistance from Ginny, he got to his feet.

"Is it gone?" Rowena asked fearfully. She rocked her granddaughter back and forth in her arms.

"It's gone," Harry confirmed.

"How – who – but  _a revenant_?"

Harry told her the story, keeping it as short as possible, mindful that Anise was now aware of what was being said around her. "It saw itself as being abandoned by her father," Harry said softly. "It saw kinship with Anise, even before you brought the book of photographs out of storage and into the house. Revenants… they seek out people who – who  _echo_  with them. It's nothing Anise did," Harry said in a rush. "It's just circumstantial."

Anise sobbed and told them she'd been having dreams… first, about a little girl who wanted to play with her. "She looked like me! She said we were family!" Harry ached at the words that spilled forth; in that moment, she reminded him so much of Ginny, who'd been innocent of the evil that had lurked in a diary. Anise was lonely, didn't understand why her parents didn't come home, and didn't want to complain to her grandmother.

"Oh, you darling," Rowena said, tears streaming down her face. "You can  _always_ complain to me. That's what I'm here for."

Anise put her hands over her face and wept.

Ginny knelt beside them. Harry watched her pull together the strength to comfort the grandmother and granddaughter. "It is going to be difficult," she told them, finally. "But I promise both of you this  _does_ pass." Harry closed his eyes, remembering the Chamber.

Anise sobbed. "I can still  _see_ things," she said, frantic now.

"Shh shh shh," Rowena said, rocking her back and forth.

"I know," said Ginny. "I know." She hesitated. "Look at me, Anise," she said. The little girl stared at her with wide, fearful eyes. "I want you to imagine that you can build a great big wall around those memories." Harry snapped to attention at that. "Whenever you think about them, think about a wall instead. Here, try it right now."

Harry watched as Ginny gave Anise a rudimentary Occlumency lesson. His mouth slowly fell open. She did it as gracefully as she did everything else; by the time she was finished, Anise looked far calmer.

"Practice it every day," Ginny advised her, giving Anise's nose a little tweak. "Thirteen times a day if you can." She looked at Rowena. "Be sure to remind her." Her voice dropped. "This is a rather large deal," she said very gently. "She'll need chocolate every hour, and remind her to work on building her wall. I can already tell she's well-loved, but there may be times that she… she'll remember dark thoughts she had. It may be hard for her to reconcile that," Ginny said. "Tell her it wasn't her. Keep reminding her that it wasn't her."

Harry's chest ached.

" _It felt like me_!" Anise cried.

"It wasn't you," Harry said hoarsely. "Something terrible happened to another little girl a long time ago, and she used magic to make you mad about it. But it wasn't you."

"It was magic?" Anise said.

"It was evil, evil magic," Harry confirmed. "It wasn't your fault."

"I'll remind her of that every time she looks sad," said Rowena. Privately, Harry thought it was very fortunate for Anise that Rowena had disappointed her father by getting Sorted into Hufflepuff.

"I'm going to need to leave," said Ginny. She looked at him and mouthed  _Dumbledore_. The brass instrument went back into her bag.

"Wait," said Harry. An idea occurred to him. "I think I'll take a Firebolt," he said. He needed a good long fly after this.

"You're going to fly home?" Ginny asked.

"I'm going to fly to your house," he said, determined. "If that's all right."

Relief flickered across her face. "Yes," she said. "Yes, please." She reached out and squeezed his hand. Her fingers lingered on his for a moment, then she turned on the spot and disappeared.

Dumbledore arrived not three minutes later. Anise and Rowena were in the kitchen; Harry could hear Rowena going through her cupboards. Probably she was bringing out all the chocolate in the house. Harry could not focus on Dumbledore as much as he ought to. He stood with him in the center of the street, and watched as Dumbledore used Gryffindor's sword to destroy the picture.

He thought he could hear Saletha scream.

And then it sounded like Ginny screaming.

"I will go ensure the child is all right," Dumbledore said, as Harry stared grimly at the photograph that had been sliced neatly in two.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah… I think she will be… but you should check…"

Harry had held the Firebolt in his hands this entire time and so tightly he was fairly certain he had the wood imprinted on his hands.

"Are  _you_ all right, Har—erm, August?" Dumbledore asked, blue eyes keen. "It is no easy thing, to delve into a revenant's most brutal memory."

"I know, I – I'm all right," Harry said. He could not explain that it wasn't exactly the revenant that was bothering him so much. It was the reminder of everything that had happened with Ginny during her first year. He'd never fully appreciated the horror of what had been done to her. He knew this was partly because he hadn't known what that diary truly was at the time; he hadn't known what Horcruxes were for another couple of years. He hadn't known how repulsive the diary had truly been.

Harry had the sudden urge to destroy it all over again.

Dumbledore was still staring at him, white eyebrow raised.

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it with Dumbledore. "I'm going to fly home," he said.

Dumbledore's eyes looked through him a minute longer. "All right, August," he said. "Fly safely."

Harry almost took off. He straddled the Firebolt, but then a thought caught him in a fierce grip. "It isn't fair, you know," he said in a hard voice. "Revenants were murdered and betrayed. It isn't their  _fault_ their own soul was split. That little girl's father allowed Grindelwald to kill her –  _urged_ him to. It isn't right."

A warm breeze ruffled his robes. Dumbledore sighed. "You're right, Harry," he said quietly. "It's a tragedy beyond comprehension. So similar to the creation of a Horcrux, and yet…"

"It's the innocent one who's been mutilated," Harry said. There was nothing Dumbledore could say to this, Harry knew that. It was not Dumbledore's fault that revenants were created out of the sundered soul of a person who'd been murdered and betrayed.

"It's always the innocent who suffer the most," Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded, swiped at his scar, and this time, he really did kick off into the air. The Firebolt carried him up and into the sky with a speed that was normally satisfying. Usually, flying helped him let go of whatever was plaguing him. This time it didn't. His thoughts kept straying to Ginny, as they so often did, but these were not the kind they usually were. Instead of wanting to kiss her, wanting to touch her, wanting to listen to her talk for hours, he kept seeing her as she'd been in the Chamber of Secrets: young and terrified.

" _I didn't know! I didn't know it was him!" Tears spilled out of her eyes and over her cheeks._

" _It's okay—"_

" _I swear I didn't!"_

_Her voice echoed in the Chamber. The diary lay in a puddle of muck and ink. The basilisk fang pierced it all the way through. It occurred to him that Dumbledore would want to see this. Harry could not think of any type of curse that could do this kind of thing. The Heir of Slytherin had been terrorizing the school for months…_

" _I know you didn't," Harry said. "It's – it was Voldemort."_

_He stooped to pick up the diary, and froze when she shrieked._

"DON'T TOUCH IT! _"_

" _It's all right, Ginny," he told her. "Look, see, it's – it's_ dead _."_

_Ginny stared at it with fear and revulsion._

" _Voldemort was screaming, I'm sure whatever kind of curse it was that did this to you… it's gone," Harry told her. "It's over, Ginny, I promise." He was convinced of it. The basilisk fang had destroyed whatever evil bit of magic had been in there. However, he used a spell Lupin had taught him, and placed a protective bit of magic around the diary. "There," he said. It was a good idea, anyway, to keep it protected. "But Ginny… I swear, it's over." He tried to smile at her, but she just stared at it, eyes wide and shocked. Then she sighed, finally, and visibly pulled herself together. Harry watched, impressed, as she straightened her shoulders and spine, and lifted her chin._

_He cleared his throat, wishing he knew what to say to a young girl to keep her from crying again. He patted her on the shoulder, feeling extremely awkward. "That's… a good Gryffindor?"_

" _I'm not," she said, shoulders slumping again. "You're the Gryffindor. Look, you've even got his sword."_

 _Harry led her down the long path back to where Ron was hopefully still blasting his way through the pile of rocks. It suddenly didn't matter that she was only eleven – or was she twelve? when was her birthday? – she'd just survived something terrible. "What happened to you is my worst nightmare," he told her, breaking the silence. "Not coming down here to get you – but what_ you  _went through. That's my worst nightmare… a literal nightmare." He had them regularly, and they always made his scar hurt. They were horrific. "I'd be a mess right now. I just… Voldemort hurts everyone. It wasn't your fault."_

_Fresh tears streamed down her face._

" _I promise, it's over," Harry said, feeling rather desperate._

Harry forced the memory away. He was high in the clouds now, he couldn't even see the ground. It was just lucky that the Firebolt had a compass inlaid in it – a cursory glance at it told Harry he was still headed in the right direction. He'd been awful at giving her any sort of comfort; he still was. Ginny, though… she'd been natural and easy with Anise. As much as he winced over remembering how awkward he'd been after she'd woken up from a nightmare – honestly, it was a testament to her strength that she hadn't lost it on him – the worst was that he'd been wrong. It  _hadn't_ been over. In his relief over killing the basilisk and destroying the diary, he'd forgotten something vital.

" _Ron!" he shouted. "Ron, I've got her! She's okay!"_

_A garbled roar reached them._

" _The rocks are magicked…" Harry told her. "He's got to do it all by hand." He clenched his jaw. But now that Harry was helping from the other side, they made short work of the rest of the rocks in Harry's path. Then Harry was helping Ginny through the hole they'd made, and crawling after. The whole time, he explained everything that had happened. He got stuck halfway through._

" _I need some help," said Harry._

_Ron ignored him. Ginny moved to help him, but then Ron was shouting at her._

" _Ginny! How could you trust that diary?!" Ron said. His whole face was crimson, and there were tear tracks on his cheeks. "_ Dad always told us we can't trust anything if we don't know where it put its brain!"

" _I'm s-sorry, I didn't know!"_

" _God damn it, Ron," Harry muttered._

" _Stay out of this, Harry!" Ron told him, continuing to ignore Harry's efforts to free himself from the wall of rocks. He pointed at his sister: "He told us! Ginny, I can't believe you trusted that thing! It could've killed you! You could have_ died –  _we would've lost you! Why would you be so stupid?!"_

_Harry shimmied like an eel, kicked his feet, and finally landed on the other side._

" _Hem, hem."_

_Ron stopped abruptly, and ice flooded Harry's stomach._

" _She confessed she was doing You Know Who's bidding to you," Umbridge said._

" _No, she didn't," Harry said fiercely. "He was_ using  _her, she was his victim—"_

" _Exactly what she'd like to make us think," Umbridge said. There was a little smile on her lips that made Harry swallow back bile._

" _What do you mean, 'makes us think'?" Ron said loudly._

" _I think the Minister would understand why I had to do this," said Umbridge._

_Her wand slashed – Ron roared with rage, and lashed out with his own wand. Harry watched with mounting horror as the rocks fell on Umbridge, crushing her…_

… _and then Ginny made a choking sound, and crumpled to the floor. His eyes bugged as she crumpled to the floor in a heap, blood spreading around her. "No! Ginny! No!" Ron was shouting. They both went to their knees, Harry turned her over. The damage was terrible; she'd been cut open from neck to waist; blood flowed out of her. Already she was pale._

 _Harry couldn't think, he could hardly move._ C'mon, think of a healing spell _, he ordered himself. If he could just think of one, they could get her to Madame Pomfrey._

" _I yelled at you," Ron said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm not mad, don't – don't go away thinking I was mad, Ginny._ But you can't go away!"

_There was a rattling sound as Ginny tried to talk._

_Harry's eyes met Ron's. The moment swelled as Harry willed Ron to tell him what to do, to think of something—_

_Fawkes winged down out of nowhere and landed right on Ginny._

" _What the fuck—"_

_But before Ron could raise his wand again, Harry launched himself at him. "Stop!" he roared, tackling Ron away from the phoenix, the only thing in the world that could help Ginny. "He can help her!"_

_Warm relief slashed through him as he saw the tear that beaded in Fawkes's eye. He seemed to look at Harry. The tear sparkled like a diamond – though worth much more – and then fell on Ginny's wound. Ron cried out when it began to heal. Flesh knitted together. Blood stopped flowing out of her like a waterfall. Her breathing evened out. Harry watched, unable to take his eyes away._

" _Oh, God, Ginny," Ron said._

Harry hovered in the air. His eyes were open, but he was sightless. He could only see what he remembered of the Chamber. It'd all been over, and then Umbridge had nearly killed her. Faint waves of horror pulsed through him. They receded as he reminded himself that Fawkes had been there to save her just as he'd saved Harry from the basilisk venom.  _He was there, everything turned out all right_ , he told himself.

Suddenly it seemed stupid to be flying toward her when he could Apparate and see her in seconds. He focused on the little path outside her cottage, twisted in mid-air, and Disapparated.

Harry grabbed the Firebolt before it clattered to the mossy stones, and then Ginny was opening the door and beckoning him in.

"I was halfway here before I Apparated," Harry explained.

He shut the door behind him, and then their arms were around each other. Harry sighed and buried his nose in her hair. It was immediately soothing to him to have her in his arms. Her cheek rested against his chest, his hand went into her hair and cupped the back of her head. She must've freshened up before he'd arrived, because she smelled clean and fresh and not like they'd spent the day searching through dusty shelves and wardrobes and battling it out with a revenant.

"Do you remember," Harry asked, "how awful I was at trying to – to comfort you down in the Chamber?"

"I don't really remember that," Ginny said. Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I just remember you being there."

"Well, I was awful," he assured her. He took a deep breath. "I'm still not – I don't always know how to say the right thing."

"You could just keep hugging me," Ginny suggested.

"Gladly," said Harry.


	19. Chapter 19

Holding her smoothed the terrifying, jagged edges of what happened that day, and what happened in the past. Bit by bit, warmth returned to Harry's body. He sighed against her hair, hoping he was doing the same for her. The way she melted against him made him think he might. He cupped her head in his hand and massaged her scalp. They stood like that, swaying slightly, and Ginny was the first to move.

"I need some water," she said, reluctantly. "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," he said. His robes were clammy from the wind and the clouds. Harry took them off, leaving him in the trousers and shirt he'd meant to wear to the Quidditch match. It was hard to believe that was earlier today. The revenant had seemed to take weeks to defeat. Peering out the window Ginny'd opened while he took off his robes, he couldn't believe it was even still daylight.

"Hard to believe we were to go to a Quidditch match today," Ginny said, echoing his thoughts. She pressed a cold glass of water into his hand.

"I know," Harry murmured. They took their water, and sank down onto her purple spangled couch. Warmth radiated from her, and he shifted closer so their knees and thighs were touching.

Ginny sipped her water.

"I do think we should write about what happened," Harry said. The condensation covering the water glass cooled his hand, reminding him that he needed a cold shower. "People ought to know that the Ministry ignored something like that."

Ginny shot him a startled look. "I was thinking this was a case we weren't going to mention at all in  _The Turnip_."

"The Ministry ignored a fucking revenant," Harry reminded her. "A  _fucking revenant_." It struck him that she must be worried for Anise. "We don't have to say who, or even go into the details," he assured her. Dumbledore, her family – and Harry – had gone to great lengths to ensure that the press was not allowed to get near Ginny; the explanation for Umbridge's death, the Heir of Slytherin, all of that business had not been dragged into public view. "We won't let out any personal details," he assured her.

"What if people dug it up?" Ginny asked. Her cheeks were pale.

"We'll bury it as much as possible." His mind raced. "What if we did more of an informational article? We could be clear about the symptoms of possession… we could go into some of the causes… listen, remember when Voldemort returned, and the Ministry knew it, and then they sent out a packet – all the ways we could protect ourselves?" He set his water glass down, and gripped her hands in both of his. "We could do something similar—"

"Except not totally useless?" Ginny finished for him.

" _The Turnip_ wouldn't print anything useless," Harry reminded her. "We don't really even have to mention Anise—"

"—we can't, the public would look at her differently," Ginny told him. Her eyes were bold, but a flush had mounted her cheeks.

Harry rocked back. "No one looked at you differently, I hope you know that," he said quietly.

"I do," she nodded, "but Dumbledore and my mum and dad, they kept it out of the  _Daily Prophet_. No one knew anything for sure. It was all rumor. And not only do I worry about the press, I worry about the Ministry. What if they decide they need to study her? What if they smuggle her into the Department of Mysteries and torture her like they do that house elf?"

"You're right," said Harry. He looked at her intently, trying to read every nuance in her face. There was tension in the twist of her lips, and wariness like bruises at the corners of her eyes. "We won't even focus on revenants, how about that?" he asked tentatively. "We'll do a giant article… list everything. But Ginny… the Ministry didn't do anything! What if there are more?"

"I know," she said in a low, low voice. Her hands clutched at his and squeezed. "You're right, I just…"

Harry hugged her again, trying to will her to feel the reassurance he wanted her to. "How did you manage to survive months of that?" he murmured against her hair. "You were eleven."

She was silent for so long, Harry worried that he'd asked the wrong question. "Mum and Dad helped," she said finally. "They were very open – for them – about the kinds of things Voldemort had done before… it wasn't just me. He used the Imperius to make people do awful things. I was a little obsessed with that, actually; I went looking for accounts of people who'd gone through that kind of thing. There were a lot. Bill helped me find a lot of that. I wasn't the only one who woke up from having a terrible dream and finding out it was real. I'd become a monster."

"You were never a monster," Harry told her.

"Messed around by one, then," said Ginny. "That helped. And  _you_ helped, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "That's nice of you to say, but other than going – going and getting you in the Chamber, I didn't do a damn thing."

"You treated me exactly the same way," she said. "There was no difference in the way you treated me from before the Chamber to after the Chamber. And… when I was having those nightmares at Grimmauld Place… you didn't just think it was think it was latent trauma from the Chamber – which wasn't  _wrong_ of my parents to think." She squeezed his hands. "You told Dumbledore."

"He didn't tell me until years later, but there was another… evil memory of Voldemort's," Harry said. His voice was hoarse. "It was in Grimmauld Place. You warned him, you know," he added. Without Ginny, how long would it have taken for them to find the locket Horcrux? Sweat beaded on his brow.

"It was so strange," she murmured. "I could tell it was gone. It wasn't… whispering… to me anymore."

He looked at her, hating that Voldemort's Horcrux had whispered to her.

"Dumbledore taught me Occlumency after that," she said.

This startled him. "He tried to teach me, too. I was pants at it."

"I was, too, at first," she said. Her fingers plucked at his robes. "It just – it finally clicked when I realized it was like keeping a secret. I had to keep the thoughts in my own head from spilling out, from being easily read by others."

Harry stroked her leg, lightly. "You have a lot of secrets," he observed.

"It feels like I have more by the day," she said wryly. "I'm always worried that if I tell one secret, the rest of them will come spilling out." She gave him a twisted little smile. "I have nightmares where I'm at the Burrow, and for some reason the dam breaks, and then – then they know everything."

Harry mulled over her words. As he did, something in him eased. One of her secrets was how she'd found out August Peverell was a ruse, and that he was, in fact, Harry Potter. He squeezed her thigh. The way she maintained her Occlumency was entwined with keeping all of those secrets; no wonder she'd been so furious when she'd let it slip that she knew who he was. It wasn't just about a bet. Not entirely.

"I understand," he said quietly.

Her eyes searched his. A breeze from the open window ruffled her hair, blowing a few strands into her face. Harry tucked them behind her ear for her. She leaned into his touch, and offered a small smile. "I know you do," she said.

Harry brushed her lips with his once, then twice. He was realizing how strong she was, but something made him want to be gentle as though she might break. A different kind of heat kindled between them. His breath slowed and evened. Instead of all of his blood rushing to one spot in less than a minute, it happened slowly. As they kissed, he fell slowly, hardened, and pulsed.

When they finally broke apart, it was obvious what their kisses had done. What robes generally hid, light trousers did not, and it was bulging outward. Harry watched her take three deep breaths, then look him in the eye with something like regret.

"Today… right now… really isn't…"

"I know," Harry said. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and forced himself not to think of the feel of her pressed up against him. "Sometimes it just happens." It wasn't one of his smarter comments, but it was difficult to think with all the blood centered in one part of his body. Gradually, he relaxed. He glanced at Ginny – she was staring down at his lap quite boldly.  _You're going to get me hard again if you keep looking like that_ , he wanted to tell her.

Instead, he changed the subject. Not long after that, he left, after walking all the way around the cottage with her to check her wards. He flew home to Grimmauld Place; this time, flying brought him peace instead of nightmarish memories.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

They spent the next week writing their article.

"That was a good idea, adding in some details about other possessions," Ginny told him. "That way the revenant doesn't stand out."

"Thanks," said Harry. The article was done – completely done. It would not be published yet, they didn't want to make a special issue of it, but it was ready to go. It'd been painful to write, even more than he'd thought it would be. He sat with his fingers over his eyes. "I'm so glad that's over and done."

"Me too," Ginny said.

She sat down next to him on the couch; Harry wrapped his arm around her, and she nestled into his side. For long minutes, he pushed the experience of the revenant, and writing that article aside, and focused on how she felt next to him. Her breathing was slow and deep. The door to her office was open; Harry could hear the hum of activity as the various enchantments did their work. Every once in a while, he could hear the murmur of Luna or Neville's voices. But none of that really mattered.

"I'm so tired," he said, finally breaking the silence.

"Me too," she agreed.

Her hand brushed over his chest. Then she did it again. His stomach swooped when her thumb brushed over his nipple.

He caught her hand in his before he decided that if she was touching  _his_ chest, he got to touch hers.  _Remember what you told her_ , he ordered himself. But the last week was not just about writing an article that lanced wounds he didn't even realize he still had – there had also been maddening, dizzying kisses. It was difficult not to get caught up in how amazing she made him feel.

Harry kissed the palm of her hand, then her wrist.

He was wanking nearly as much as he had as a teenager, and all it took was a touch from her and he would start to get hard. It was difficult to think, after that, unless it was thinking what he wanted to do with her, how he wanted to do it—

Ginny moved so that her head was even with his, and kissed him full on the lips.

His arms wrapped around her, and he kissed her back just as fiercely. Her lips were warm and pliant beneath his, moving with him. Her tongue darted into his mouth; his body thrilled at that touch. He pulled her closer; she was almost on his lap, his fingers were digging into her hip, and hers were doing the same to his shoulders. "You feel so good," he told her, nipping at her lips. "Taste so good." Then he concentrated on not talking, only feeling. His whole body was hot; he pulled her closer, pressing his erection against the side of her hip—

"Did you two finish your article? Is this how we celebrate now?" Luna's dreamy voice drifted over to them, puncturing the moment.

"I – what?" Ginny asked.

Her brown eyes were soft and blurry in such a way that Harry had the sudden urge to nudge Luna out of the room and shut the door. Instead, he blew out a breath, closed his eyes, and pulled himself together.  _We're at the office_ , he told himself.  _It's hardly a private spot. Luna could give us a little more privacy. Next time we've got to close the door_.

"Do we celebrate writing articles by snogging now?" Luna asked.

Harry groaned.

"Do I have to snog Neville? I'm almost done with my article," she continued earnestly.

"Please don't," Neville's voice cut in. It was thick with laughter. He was listening in on this, too. Great. "Hannah would never understand."

"Maybe Ginny, then," Luna said complacently. Harry's eyes popped open.

"No," he said firmly. "We weren't kissing because we finished the article." There was a long silence after he said this. Luna stared at him, head slightly cocked. Her eyes reminded him disconcertingly of Dumbledore's. The longer she stared at him, the more uncomfortable he got. They weren't doing anything wrong, he and Ginny. He wasn't sure what Luna was expecting from him, but if it was an apology, she was not going to get it. After a few moments, she wandered away without saying another word.

The mood between him and Ginny was broken, though. "I'm so tired," he said, yawning.

"We're all taking tomorrow off," said Ginny. Her voice was muffled against his chest.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she wanted to see if there was a Quidditch game they could watch somewhere, but in between the thought and the action, he happened to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, and she looked absolutely knackered.  _She needs a break_ , he thought. Not from him, specifically, but he did not like the way the skin around her eyes was drawn tight.

He kissed her forehead. "Get some rest tomorrow," he told her.

She nodded.

It was not long after that Harry left to go back to Grimmauld Place. He decided to follow his own orders, and get some rest, so he waved away Ron's offer of a chess match and headed up to take a long shower and get into bed.

Fourteen hours later, he woke up with the slight headache that came from having too much sleep, and muzzy thoughts. He'd dreamed of Ginny – not sexually – but there was something he'd got wrong, and he spent the rest of his night chasing after her. The feeling lingered through his morning, and by the time he had lunch, he decided to go to the church to see if he could find her.

Instead, he found Luna.

"You just missed Ginny," she said cheerfully. She was wearing pajamas and an actual nightcap, had a large inkstain on her cheek, and parchment spread all around her.

His shoulders slumped. "Damn it."

He was once again treated to a long, disconcerting stare.  _She studies me like I'm some sort of creature_ , Harry thought, slightly uncomfortable. The more she stared, the greater his discomfort grew. It bothered him. It also bothered him that he'd just missed Ginny. It was the same sensation he'd had in the dream, except now it was disconcertingly real.

"Do you know where she went?" he finally asked. Then an idea struck him. "Is Neville here?"

"No, I'm not!" Neville shouted from somewhere in the church.

Harry glared in that general direction, then turned back to Luna.

"Do you want to see her?" Luna asked. The tone in her voice grated on him.

"Of course," Harry said, forcing politeness into his tone.

She cocked her head. "Is it because you haven't snogged her in a while?"

"Merlin, Luna!" Harry snapped. He looked at her with real annoyance. Her words last night came back to him; she saw kissing as just something to do with anyone. It wasn't like that. "It's not like that," he said. "It's not just – snogging just to snog someone, for me, and I'm pretty sure not for her either. I want to see her because I… just want to see her," he finished lamely. At the last second, he could not admit – to Luna, of all people – that he just wanted to be near her. True, he wanted to kiss her, but that was secondary.

Luna leaned back and scratched at her ear. "She's at the Burrow, she wanted to help her mum with some potions," she offered, to Harry surprise.

The Burrow.

Potions.

He'd already formulated a plan – take Molly the bit of silver the hag had thrown at him a while ago, and ask her to brew the Wolfsbane for Remus – to show up at the Burrow before he'd even realized he was going to. "Thanks, Luna," he said, distracted. Where had he put that knife?

"Next time, just take her on a nature walk, or something," she said inexplicably.

"Right, yeah," he said, agreeing just to agree. "Thanks again."

Harry arrived at the Burrow a little after seven. The silver knife the hag had thrown at him a while ago was in a box he'd conjured just before he left. He stared up at the crooked little building he knew so well. This time, it felt awkward, like he'd never been here before. When he got to the back door, he had the strange urge to knock.  _Don't be stupid_ , he told himself, and pushed it open.

"Harry!" Arthur boomed as soon as he saw him. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Molly and Ginny peeked around the corner. Harry avoided meeting Ginny's eyes. He brought out the box that held the silver knife with flourish. "I actually wanted to ask you, Molly, if you could make the Wolfsbane for Remus? With that – erm – article, you know, I, uh… worry that he won't be able to get the right potion. I think I got the right kind of silver. I hope it's enough."

"Of course, Harry, but are you sure this is the  _right_  silver?" Molly asked. She took the box from him and opened it. Her eyes widened immediately, and her mouth gaped open. " _Harry_ , dear, this is – how did you get this? This is enough to make – I don't even know! I'd weigh it, but Remus won't have to worry about the Wolfsbane for a good long while."

"Oh, good," Harry said. "Thank you."

"If Mum can't make a potion for you, you could always try Horace Slughorn," said Ginny. The back of Harry's neck got hot.

"I thought of your mum first, but that's good advice," he said.

"Ginny and I are going to work on potions tonight, as a matter of fact," Molly said. "That  _Turnip_ article made me realize it's best to stock up on these things." She gave him a thoughtful look. "It's kind of you to think of him."

Harry did not know quite what to say to that, and was grateful when Arthur intervened to ask if he wanted to join them for dinner. Of course Harry did. It was just the four of them; Harry sat next to Ginny at the table; it'd been magicked to be much smaller than it usually was. Gradually, he relaxed; by the time he was done with his salad, their legs were touching.

"Harry, it's nice to have you here, Ron says he hardly ever sees you anymore," said Molly.

"He thinks you're dating someone," Arthur put in, his eyes twinkling in a way that reminded him of Ginny.

He coughed out the bite of tomato he'd just choked on. "When is Ron right about anything to do with romance?" he asked, forcing a laugh.

The pressure of Ginny's thigh against his disappeared.

Molly summoned a plate of meat pasties, and doled them out. "If – when – you do, bring her over. We'd love to meet her. Just like we'd love to meet your August, Ginny," she said, spearing her daughter with a glance. "You've been dating him at least a month."

"I don't know if he's  _my_ anything," said Ginny. "We spend time together at work, and sometimes that… spills over into personal time, but we don't really go out on actual dates."

Arthur leaned across the table, brow drawn. "Is he taking advantage of you?" he asked quietly. Harry started to sweat. It wasn't often that Arthur revealed that aside from being kind, generous, and affable, he was also a danger to anyone who'd harm one of his children. Especially Ginny.  _If he finds out – if he thinks I'm just messing her around – I'm toast_ , Harry thought.

"No!" said Ginny. "I just don't… know what he wants. Or if  _he_ knows what he wants. But he isn't  _taking advantage_ of me. I would've hexed him by now."

"That's my girl," Arthur said smugly, leaning back.

"What if he's just an idiot?" Harry offered.

This seemed to break the tension. Ginny pointed her fork directly at his nose. "You don't get to call him an idiot, Harry," she said, grinning up at him. Harry forced himself to look away from her, afraid that he might be revealing anything to her parents. Thankfully, the topic changed to Quidditch, and then Quodpot, and by the time they finished mocking the American sport, Ginny's leg was pressed against his again.

After dinner, Harry mentioned that he thought he'd left something up in Ron's room. "It was over Ginny's birthday," he said, because he knew  _they_ knew that he hadn't gone up to Ron's room this visit. "Would you mind if I took just a peek?"

"Of course, Harry, don't be silly, you didn't have to ask," said Molly.

Harry gave Ginny a long, significant look. "Will you help me, Ginny? It's… rather small," he said. "And, uh, charmed so you can't summon it."

"Of course," she said composedly, and slid off her chair.

Her hair was down tonight, and it swished back and forth just above her hips as she walked up the stairs in a way Harry found quite hypnotic. By the time they reached Ron's room – at the very top of the Burrow – Harry nearly forgot the question he wanted to ask her. He took her hand as they entered the dark room, sat down at the end of the bed. She stood between his thighs, swaying slightly back and forth. She smelled like chocolate.

"You said you weren't sure you were dating August," Harry said. He pictured that look she'd given him. Doubt.

Her fingers tightened around his. "I'm not. I mean – I'm not sure."

"So you  _aren't_  sure you're dating me," Harry said, just to clarify. There was a long silence; the only sound was the rain pattering at the windows, and the faint moan coming from the ghoul who lived upstairs.

"We haven't, you know, gone out on a real, actual date," said Ginny. "I don't know what – I don't want it to be just snogging, Harry, but what if it is. For you, I mean."

"It's not," he assured her.

"The only times we might've gone on a proper date, I did the asking," said Ginny.

Harry flopped onto his back, and put his forearm over his eyes. "—and then I had to turn into August—"

"—or we had to deal with a little girl being possessed," said Ginny.

"It's true, I haven't asked you on a proper date," said Harry. "I think unless we're at work, I've just sort of showed up near you and hoped you'd spend time with me."

This surprised a laugh out of her. She sat down next to him on the bed. "You're right, I hadn't noticed that. I mean, you weren't a stalker… but, you did show up, and we did spend time together."

"It wasn't an accident," Harry assured her.

 _Delighted,_ Harry thought, when she laughed again.  _She sounds delighted_.

Ginny slowly stretched out next to him until her body lay along his, and their heads were close together. The delight in her eyes turned into something warmer. "So, we're dating?"

"To be honest, I don't care if we're at the church, at your cottage, in the Forbidden Forest, in your brother's room, or at a – a normal date type place, like a Quidditch match," Harry said quietly. "If you're there, I'm happy." He paused when a thought jabbed at him. "Well, maybe not when we've got a revenant to deal with."

Her fingertips brushed his chest. "Me too," she said in just as soft a voice. "Me too."

She brushed her lips with his just as something tense inside him relaxed.

"I have to go to that Slug Club party tomorrow," she said. "Want to come with me?"

"Yes, please," Harry said.

Then he kissed her.

It started out light and gentle. Rain fell against the windows, but that was the only sound other than their breath. She tasted like chocolate, Harry realized, once their tongues mingled. Her hand was stroking in his hair, and Harry was adjusting them so he had both arms around her.

It did not take long after that for the heat between them to spring up. Everything but her receded as Harry's body grew warmer. He brushed his hand along her side, from thigh to hip; when he did at again, she squirmed. This was usually when she stopped him, but she kept kissing him, kept stroking his hair, his chest, his back. When he tickled her thigh again, she hitched her leg over his hips.

Harry groaned into her mouth as his erection strained toward her.

His hand slid from her thigh to her bum; she squirmed at his touch, gasping, and Harry rolled them over – he was on top of her, pressing against her—

"Is this – okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," she said.

He rocked his hips. A pulse of pleasure swept over his body.

Harry pulled back to look at her. It was dark enough that shadows pooled over her face, but she was smiling. He brushed the bright red strands of hair out of her face, and kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, and her eyebrows. His hips pressed harder against her; Harry watched as her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered. "You're really just… very beautiful," he told her.

Her eyes opened—

"Ginny!"

They both froze. Molly's voice had the effectiveness of having cold water dumped on them. The stairs creaked and groaned. She was only a floor below them.

"I wanted to get started on some of the potions tonight, I was hoping you'd help," she said.

Harry finally managed to roll off Ginny, who immediately sat up and whispered " _Descendo."_ He was unable to understand why she'd pulled down the ladder to the attic, leapt over to it, and climbed up.

"Are you sure you left it here, Harry?" Ginny asked in a loud voice.

"Erm – uh – maybe not?" Harry said. "Your mum's looking for you…"

Molly peeked in on them. To Harry's immense relief, she did not look even slightly curious or suspicious.

Ginny climbed down the ladder, clapping dust off her hands. "I should really do some freshening spells up there," she said cheerfully. "Hi, Mum… did you say something about potions?"

"Oh, yes, dear," Molly said. "I wanted to get started on a couple of them… I'll start the Wolfsbane tomorrow, it's too complicated to start so late, but we could do a couple others."

"Good idea, Mum," said Ginny. She looked at Harry. "Sorry I couldn't help you, Harry," she said. When her mother turned away, Ginny winked at him and cast a look of regret at the bed they'd been rumpling.  _Ron's old bed_ , Harry thought with a tiny measure of guilt, as he watched her leave.  _That was risky._

But risky as it was, Harry wanted to do it again.

_Maybe after Slughorn's party._

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"I like your suit," Ginny told him. Her eyes wandered up and down his body in a way that made him take in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

And she was one to talk. Her dress was strapless – Harry's gaze lingered on her shoulders, wondering if she'd gone braless. He couldn't tell. The midnight blue fabric was tight around her chest, but didn't reveal any secrets. It fell loose around her legs and waist, and finished nearly at the floor. Enchanted, embroidered stars revolved lazily around the hem. Squinting, Harry realized they were arranged in constellations.

"You look beautiful," he told her.

"Thank you," she grinned at him. "You look quite dashing yourself."

It was nearly two hours before Slughorn's party started. Harry'd suggested going to Hogwarts early; they could take a walk around the grounds, and talk with just each other before they had to go mingle. The plan was perfect, until reality set in.

The snow nearly blinded them the moment they arrived in Hogsmeade. "Damn Scotland," Harry said, though there was little anger in that. He'd lived there for seven years; he ought to have expected it. Ginny was casting a warming charm on herself, and Harry conjured an umbrella. "Should we stay in Hogsmeade, or…?"

"Let's go up to Hogwarts," Ginny said. "We can at least walk around the castle."

Harry didn't mind the prospect of walking through the snow; nothing could deter him from his cheer. They were halfway through the town, hands entwined, when Dumbledore's brother Aberforth poked his head out the door. "I've been told to keep watch for Slughorn's friends, we gotta floo open for you lot," he said gruffly. His eyes widened when he saw Harry.

 _Maybe Dumbledore turned August into his twin_ , Harry thought, uncertain. But Aberforth looked away a second later, and perhaps Harry'd imagined it. "Are we the first?" Ginny asked. They followed him into the Hog's Head Inn. It was empty of customers – unless one counted goats as customers. Two large goats lay in front of a roaring fire, and several juveniles leapt and played with each other.

"Not the first, another bloke came through a bit ago," Aberforth grunted. "Through here," he said. "The public fireplace isn't on the network."

A swinging door led to a quieter sitting area. Four more goats were in there. Harry thought this was slightly excessive, but he supposed it was cold outside. Besides, no one who came to the Hog's Head cared overly much about the cleanliness. They would not care how many goats joined them for a drink.

"Thanks, Aberforth," Ginny said.

"Yeah, thanks, that would've been a cold, wet walk," Harry added.

Aberforth hmphed, and passed them the floo powder.

Ginny went first; Harry followed as soon as she spun away from view, forgetting that he ought to have given her more time to step away from the fireplace. He crashed into her, and only barely managed to get his arms around her before she fell. Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but her flowery scent engulfed him, and he ended up just breathing in. She turned her head to look at him, and made no move to disentangle herself from him.

He leaned forward—

She touched her finger to his lips. "No,  _August_ ," she said.

"Damn it," Harry muttered.

Firelight flickered in her eyes as she laughed.

"Ah, other early birds!"

Harry dropped his arms after a moment, then looked at Slughorn.

"Hello, Horace," said Ginny. She reached out to shake his hand. "It's good to see you; thank you for inviting me tonight."

Slughorn's robes were rather… resplendent, Harry decided. Every imaginable shade of green was included in the ensemble, and it was capped off with a fez. It was odd, though, when Slughorn looked at him without a trace of recognition. "Ah, Ginny! You brought a date – I know several young wizards – and some of them not so young – who will be quite disappointed," he said, winking.

"This is August," Ginny said, twining her fingers in Harry's. "August Peverell."

Harry nodded at Slughorn, as his hand was taken. "It's a pleasure, Horace," he said, as naturally as possible.

"The pleasure is mine," said Slughorn. "Please… do set aside a bit of time for me during the party. Your name… is quite illustrious. I'm sure there's a story behind it."

"It's nothing," Harry demurred.

"Ah, well," Slughorn said affably.

"We're going to take a walk around the castle," said Ginny. "Horace – we'll see you when the party starts."

Slughorn nodded happily, and waved them out the open door of his office. He wagged a finger at Harry. "No broom cupboards, August," he said with a great deal of good nature. "She has six older brothers, you know."

Once they were out of earshot, Harry leaned down to say, very quietly, "Him telling us not to find a broom cupboard just makes me want to go find one."

"First of all, Harry, he told  _you_ not to take me to a broom cupboard," Ginny said. "Second of all, you would've wanted to find one whether or not Horace said anything about it."

"True," Harry admitted. He stopped in the middle of the hall, and looked her up and down again, reveling in how beautiful she was from the top of her head with that mane of red hair, to the hem of her dress. He lingered on all the spaces between. "And why wouldn't I want to do what all the others at Hogwarts did, and find a nice, private place to snog my girlfriend?"

Her eyes lit at that, and then he was being dragged down the hall, and up a hidden flight of stairs he wasn't sure he'd ever noticed before. There was a tiny corridor leading off about thirty feet. There was one lone torch illuminating a small door. Ginny led him to it, opened it, and Harry found himself in a small – though not  _terribly_ so – space. The light was very faint, but there were actual brooms, a small bench, and various other cleaning supplies.

"Be Harry for me," she said urgently.

Harry touched the bump on his wrist with the tip of his wand. "I take it you like it when I call you my girlfriend?"

"Oh, yes," she said.

Then they were kissing. Her lips softened beneath his. Harry pulled back a little. "I'm not messing you around," he told her again. "I wouldn't." Her chin tilted, and Harry kissed her again. That heat he'd begun to crave rose between them.

She rose up on her tiptoes, and pressed harder against him. His elbow banged against the stone wall, and a row of brooms clattered to the floor. He ignored this, and shuffled them closer to the bench. Their breaths mingled, and then their tongues; he grew light-headed, had the sensation of falling as his blood heated and congregated in one specific spot. Ginny's scent was all around him, her hands traced fire along his back, and he swelled and lengthened against her.

He sat down on the bench and pulled her into his lap. His hand convulsed in her hair when she made a particularly wonderful move with her tongue. He shifted her in his arms, holding her against him the way he'd wanted to for weeks.

"Ginny..."

He dragged his lips from hers, and kissed along her jaw, the crescent edge of her ear, and then the rapidly beating pulse in her neck.

She made a sound when he did that, one that made him throb. Fingers clutched at his hair and pulled him closer, and he kissed every part of her neck he could reach. It made her squirm, and he nearly dropped her. "Sorry," she said breathlessly.

Harry pulled back. He could barely see her in the dim light.

"No, no," she said, following him, and gripping his shirt at the collar.

"I was just—"

But nimble fingers were at his buttons,  _undoing_ them. Harry sucked in a breath and arched his back. His hips strained toward her, and there was at last gentle pressure against his erection. He sighed against her mouth when her hand brushed over his chest. His own hand pressed against her stomach, and without even thinking about it, Harry slid it upward until he cupped her breast. Her fingernails dug into his chest, and it was her turn to draw in a shaky breath. It took only moments before he was impatient with the thin barrier of her dress, and he tugged it down, and touched her heated skin—

—and drew back, confused. Instead of warm, soft curves and rosebud nipple, her skin was smooth and slightly cold. "Um... Ginny...?"

"I... what... oh!" she said dazedly. She scrambled around for her wand, unintentionally rocking against him. "Used a charm instead of a bra."

Harry started to sweat, forgetting what she was doing, what he was doing, nothing else mattered except how suddenly wonderful he felt—

"There," she said. She slipped her hand back inside his shirt, reminding him...

"Oh yeah," he groaned. He drew her closer with his other arm, adjusting her, and moving his thumb in slow, easy circles around her nipple. As much as he liked her in his lap, it was impossible to get the sensation he needed just now. He nipped at her lips, memorized the feel of her breasts, and strained to feel more of her against him. "Ginny," he said finally. "Ginny, straddle me."

Neither one of them wanted to move their hands, so it was with an awkward amount of fumbling, and Ginny stumbling over some of the brooms that had fallen, that she managed to straddle his thighs. Her long skirt billowed up and over his stomach. His hips moved on their own, seeking her, needing to feel her heat against them. There was a new fervency to their kissing.

"You feel so good," he said.

She pulled her hand away from his chest, and sat back. The magical, embroidered stars around the hem of her dress offered a small bit of illumination. Her hair was mussed, her lips were swollen, her chest rose up and down, drawing his attention to the dusky rose tips.

Harry wanted to taste them, was about to lean forward to do so, when she reached down and put both of her hands on his erection. "Oh fuck," he choked. Even through her skirt and his suit trousers, he could feel the warmth of her hands.

"That's okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. God, yeah," he said. "Yeah, here." Then he was fumbling between them, fighting against the fabric of her skirt, and nearly ripping the button of his trousers off in his haste. The silk of her dress slid against the tip, and Harry brought her hands back to him. They looked at each other as she touched him, brushing his shaft lightly with her fingertips. There was little purpose to her touch aside from exploration, but Harry could hardly breathe for the pleasure of it.

"I don't...  _really_ know what I'm doing," she told him.

"You — I... you feel so good," he told her.

Her thumb brushed over the tip, spreading moisture around; Harry made a low noise in the back of his throat. She stroked him with her fingers for what felt like days. He lost himself in the sensation, until there came a point that the gentleness and the feathery touches were more like torture. His breath came out in pants, and his hips swiveled, pushing himself into her hands, trying to get him to touch him harder.

His hands were restless, skimming over her breasts, then up and down over her calves, getting higher and higher every pass, until he found the heat and warmth of her thighs. He gripped them, and felt the muscles quiver. There was another feathery touch at the tip, and Harry couldn't take it anymore.

"Ginny... wrap your hand around it." He moved his right hand down to her ankle and squeezed it hard. "Like that," he panted. A second later, she gripped his shaft.

"Up and down?" She asked.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. He didn't have the focus to say anything more. Her hand was tugging on him, squeezing him, and it was perfect. And his own hands were exploring the insides of her thighs. He shifted, spreading his legs a little wider, making her legs open further for him.

Her hands convulsed on him when he brushed her knickers. They were damp.

"You're wet," he said.

"It just happens sometimes," she said, echoing his own words. Something light burst in his chest, and they both chuckled. Ginny's broke off on a moan when he stroked her. Limited though his range of motion was, Harry sought out her sweet spot, and knew from the delicate shudder that he found it. Later, he'd explore every secret part she had.

For now, he flicked his thumb against her clit as she rocked harder and harder against him.

"Oh God, yeah," she gasped.

Her hands were pressing and pulling harder and harder, and Harry could no longer even kiss her, so intent was he on what their hands were doing. "Yeah, yeah, harder," he mumbled against her mouth. "You're so good, it's so good."

It took all of his concentration to keep a steady rhythm against her clit. Her hands were all over him, stroking him, and – even harder for him to ignore – she was responding to his touch in such a way he found it difficult not to just come immediately.  _You can't come before she does, you can't come before she does, you can't come before she does_ , was his mental chant.

Her thighs began to tighten and relax in time with his rhythm; Harry squeezed his eyes shut. The angle was wrong. All he could do was rub her clit through her knickers, and not do what he wanted and stroke inside her. His knuckles brushed against the widening damp spot, and she made a garbled moan.

"Later," he promised. He kissed her, hard, and pressed a little harder against her.

Her hands convulsed on him.

Harry kissed her. Her hips were rocking against his hand now. His eyes were closed, but he could see her anyway. He wanted to magic her knickers away. Her heat rose between them; she was so wet for him. It would be easy to slide her down on top of him. A breathless gasp escaped her. When she moaned his name not a minute later, Harry nearly ripped her knickers off.  _Not in a broom closet, not in a broom closet, not in a broom closet,_ he chanted.

"It's going to feel so good," he said.

"It – already – does," Ginny panted. "Don't stop."

"I won't," he said. In fact, he pressed a little harder, and rubbed her in a tighter circle. "I meant – when we have sex – in a bed – it's going to feel so good." He kissed her. It was sloppy… nearly out of control. Her hands slipped along his shaft, and he thrust into her grip. He was fiercely aroused, and it took everything he had to hold off until her thighs clamped down around his, and she came against him.

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry," she said as she did. And then – unbelievably – laughed, a sound made of pure pleasure. Her hands had stilled on him as she climaxed, and Harry took over. It took two strokes before he reached the height; and he twisted himself to the side, pushed her dress away, and came.

Moments later, his arms were back around her, and she was slumped, boneless, against him. He closed his eyes, so relaxed he could not move or even think about moving. Who cared about Slughorn's party? They could go back to Ginny's, take a nap, and then do this all over again when they woke up. "Do we  _have_ to go to Slughorn's party?" he asked.

Ginny laughed. "Yes," she said. "I told you, it's one of the best sources of gossip and news." She pulled back a little to look at him. Harry's nostrils flared as he caught scent of her intimate fragrance wafting up between them. "We don't have to stay long," she said. Then she kissed the corner of his mouth. "The first hour is when anything important is said." She kissed the other corner. "After that, everyone is too drunk to be useful."

"Just one hour?" Harry asked, hopeful.

"Yeah, I – yeah," she said.

One hour, Harry thought. Then something struck him. "Not that I don't want to be with you, or just want you for – this."

"I know, Harry," she said sincerely. "I want to do this again, too. Maybe even more than you do."

"I don't think that's possible, to be honest," said Harry.

She laughed and kissed him, slipping her tongue in his mouth, before she began to disentangle from him. Harry watched with regret as she covered her breasts up again. She murmured a spell; presumably, it was the charm that covered her like a bra again. His thoughts strayed to her knickers; he'd felt the lace, but he didn't even know what color they were.  _One hour_ , he told himself.

He stood and fixed his own clothing, then stepped behind her and hugged her around the waist. He dropped a kiss on the smooth skin of her shoulders. Her hair was in disarray, Harry realized, pleased.

They'd mingle at Slughorn's party, have dinner, and then make their excuses. The hair she was now twisting into a bun would tumble down her back. Ginny turned in his arms, rested her cheek against his chest, and squeezed him around the middle.

"Just one hour, and we can go back to Grimmauld Place, and—"

"Wait, what?" Harry said. "Grimmauld Place? But –  _your brother_ —"

Ginny laughed wickedly. "I was teasing," she said. "Of course we won't go to Grimmauld Place."

Harry kissed her, relieved.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry's shoulders and legs twitched.  _Run, run, run, duck, duck, duck._ Every instinct he had was on the alert. But he was in a bed, flat on his back, and couldn't move… he wasn't even twitching, his muscles were  _spasming_.  _You're in danger, you're in danger_ , his brain kept chanting.  _I'm not in danger, I'm in bed_ , he told himself. He could  _feel_ the bed. There was a pillow under his head, and he was under a blanket. It was wool, he could tell.  _Where's Ginny_?

He'd just been looking at her, hadn't he? The dress she wore tonight was beautiful, there was a part to it that went across her back. He'd just been looking at how her mostly backless dress had a chain across the top, and in the middle of that, a constellation of stars dripped down the curve of her back. It was beautiful.

"What's it called?" he muttered. His tongue felt swollen.

"What is what called?" asked Albus Dumbledore.

Harry cracked his eyes open. Light and colors shifted slowly in front of him, never resolving themselves into anything permanent. He shut his eyes again. Ginny's dress was backless, mostly, except for that chain that linked the two sides and the dangly bit –  _No, don't call it a dangly bit_ – that had so fascinated Harry. "What's it called?" he asked again. "That dangly bit." Really, he couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

"Dangly bit?" Dumbledore asked.

"When there's a… backless… dress, but there's something there at the top. Holding it together?" Harry forced the words out. "Kind of a necklace but on the dress. And it goes down the back."

"I've no notion what you're talking about," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," Harry sighed against his pillow and slept.

"Harry, I need you to wake up," Dumbledore said urgently.

He opened his eyes. This time, though Dumbledore's face was blurry, it made enough sense that Harry could recognize it. There was an urgency in his tone that sped up his heart.

"Did you see the Death Eater?"

"Huh?"

"The Death Eater who did this to you," Dumbledore said. "The one who did this to Horace Slughorn. The one who orchestrated this cruel game."  _Horace? Game?_ The words made Harry's head pound anew. The concepts swam in his mind, and he  _knew_ they used to be linked together in a chain – like the chain across Ginny's back – but now they were islands. Harry's stomach soured.

"I – don't – know," he finally managed to say.

He turned his head to the side too quickly and vomited off the side of the bed. "Sorry," he said, aghast.

"No, I'm sorry," said Dumbledore. "The others have had Dreamless Sleep potion – nothing else works with elf-magic except time – but a Death Eater orchestrated that game tonight, and I need to know why. But for now you need to rest. It was reprehensible of me to wake you."

Harry nodded. He rolled over. In the bed next to him was Ginny; her hair spilled out over the pillow. His hand twitched, as though to reach for her, and sleep swamped him once more.

It was morning sunlight spilling over the hospital wing at Hogwarts that woke Harry next. He rose out of sleep lazily. First, he became aware of gentle snores all around him. Second, he felt a breeze across his face. Third, he heard Madame Pomfrey discussing something to do with potions with Dumbledore. Things made more sense. There was very little he remembered after entering Slughorn's party.

"Horace is nearly recovered, Headmaster," said Madame Pomfrey. "He'll need a few days to rest, but the ordeal won't leave permanent marks."

"Only emotional ones," Dumbledore said. The tired sadness of his tone pressed down on Harry, weighing him down.

"You said this man's name is August Peverell?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "I've worked with him before."

"He was hit with the brunt of the blast from the elf," she said. "But he'll recover."

"Thank Merlin," Dumbledore said.

There was a careful, watchful silence. "He looks an awful lot like you."

"You know how the old families are all related," Dumbledore told her. "I expect it's just a throwback – both of us somehow managed to look like a shared distant ancestor. The Muggles have a term for it, damned if I can remember what it is."

"Hmm," Madame Pomfrey said. "If you say so, Headmaster."

"I take it – I've forgotten what happened?" Harry said, after he managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Madam Pomfrey, if you could give us some privacy."

Harry looked over at Ginny – she must still be asleep if Dumbledore did not worry about her listening in on their conversation. Instead, she was gone. The bed was bare. Harry felt a tight constriction in his chest. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

"They left yesterday," Dumbledore said. "It has been three days since the Death Eater played his game."

"Three  _days_?" Harry gaped at him.

Dumbledore shifted. "Different magical creatures – and I include wizardkind in that category, make no mistake – employ magic in different ways. Goblins, for example, do things with magic that I could never do – the swords and jewelry they make have no peer, because no other creature on earth can make them. Elves… have other ways."

Harry thought about this. "Like how they can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts?"

"Precisely, which is – incidentally – how the Death Eater escaped the other night. They can also conjure food – Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration simply don't apply to them, when they  _do_ apply to nearly every other magical creature."

A faint pulse of pain rippled through Harry's brain. Another, stronger, ripple followed it. Then a third, until Harry clutched at his temples.

"Hold still a moment, August," Dumbledore murmured. "It will pass."

Over the following day, Dumbledore told Harry what happened piece by piece. When the lights dimmed, and Madame Pomfrey left to seek her own bed, Dumbledore told him all of it. "It would be impossible – and unwise – to track all the magic done in this castle. It is a school, after all, and the professors are always working on their own projects. But ever since your fifth year, Harry, I've been keeping track of the  _bigger_ magical workings. I was alarmed when I was alerted to a major spell cast on the sixth floor – I knew Horace had one of his Slug Club parties. There – I found all of you on the ground, most of you bleeding from the ears… the eyes… Slughorn was frozen, blue, and near death."

From his initial assessment, Dumbledore had ascertained that the culprit had been a house elf acting on his or her family's orders. "It is not in their nature to use their magical power to such devastating effect, you see."

Harry turned this over in his head. Everything that Dumbledore said that day – including the fact that it was taking him so long to recover from his curse – led Harry to believe that house elf magic was  _superior_ to wizardry. A thought he couldn't quite grasp hovered in his mind, teasing him, staying just out of reach whenever Harry tried to catch it. His fingers twitched, as though attempting to catch a snitch.

"Here," Dumbledore said wisely. "That is enough talking for today. Madame Pomfrey suggested more Dreamless Sleep potion for you."

A tall blue bottle floated over to them, bobbing in the air like a cork in the sea. Dumbledore conjured a glass for Harry. Seeing he was about to protest, Dumbledore said: "It's for the best. I know we have spoken about this before, how it doesn't often help, especially after events heavy with emotion. However, this is not like that. Sleep will help you heal." Harry nodded, took the glass of liquid that smelled of syrup and midnight, and drank it down.

Then he slept.

Despite the moniker, there came a moment when Harry was sure he was dreaming. The flowery scent he associated with Ginny wafted toward him, and he breathed in deeply. "Jih—"

His voice cut off before he could say his name.

"I've been here every day, of course, Harry," she said in his ear. "Don't tell anyone."

He was asleep again before he could promise her he'd never give up one of her secrets. The next morning, Dumbledore was waiting for him to wake up. "We've finally ascertained who the body was," Dumbledore said.

"Stan Shunpike," Harry said, without thinking. It had come to his mouth without any connection to his brain. His brows drew together. "I'm sorry, Dumbledore, I don't know why I said that. Stan's in Azkaban."

 _Stan, Stan, the cunt in Azkaban_.

Harry rolled his shoulders, disturbed at his own thought. He would never call Stan a cunt. In fact, Stan Shunpike still being locked in Azkaban was one of Harry's growing number of issues with the Ministry for Magic. If Stan were a Death Eater, as both the Ministry and  _The Daily Prophet_ had claimed several years ago, Harry would eat Dumbledore's rather ostentatious wizard hat.

"Shunpike either escaped or was released by the Ministry – without a word to the public – more than a month ago," Dumbledore said. "I see that the excavation the house-elf did on your brain was not as complete as we thought. There is some retention there."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, more confused by the moment. Stan was out of Azkaban?

"Huh?" Harry asked. "How does that-?"

Dumbledore gave him a long look, and repeated: "Mr. Shunpike either escaped – or was brought out of Azkaban more than a month ago."

"How do you know it was over a month?" Harry challenged.

"Because of the condition of his body," Dumbledore said heavily. "He'd been dead for a month or more."

"How – how do you know?"  _Stan was dead?_ Harry felt a dull pain, but no surprise.

Harry was subjected to another of those long looks. "It's my thought that the answer to that is much too complicated for how you are feeling right now."

Harry relaxed against the bed. Yawning, he accepted that Dumbledore probably knew what he was talking about. "Please, tell me later," he said. It would be rather convenient to know, wouldn't it?

He waved his wand, and a silvery figure erupted out of it. A pale woman lay in bed. "I told you – I only remember bits and pieces – there was a body lying on a table – but it wasn't a  _body_ , it was only a doll." Shrill hysteria echoed in her tone. " _It was a doll_. And then – then it wasn't."

Another figure: "We all had to guess who killed the doll.  _It was a game_."

"It wasn't a game," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Horace has been lucid enough to explain that of everyone at the party, he only invited two of them: Ginny Weasley and Estelle Glass. The others received a false invitation one week exactly after Halloween. All the other guests who were meant to go to the party received an owl cancelling the event only an hour or so prior."

Pain lanced through his head. Harry clutched at it, crying out, and he was swamped down into unconsciousness – he wasn't alone, there—

_There was still time before the party, so they walked up to the Owlery. The open nature of it allowed a rather splendid view of the mountains, the forest, and the lake. Harry rested his chin on top of Ginny's head, further mussing her hair, and had his arms around her waist._

"… _the best was Lupin, of course," Ginny said loyally. They were ranking their Defense Against the Dark Arts professors from best to worst, with the unspoken agreement not to mention Dolores Umbridge._

" _Of course," Harry murmured. He squinted off into the distance. "I think the most useless I ever had was Gilderoy Lockhart." He hugged her tighter. "He was always hinting that I loved being famous. Always trying to get me to pose for photographs with him."_

" _Mum wouldn't want to hear you say that," Ginny observed. "She went to a book-signing last year, and I think Dad was jealous. Also – sometimes he shows up at these things."_

" _What? Slug Club?" Harry asked in horror._

" _Yes," Ginny turned in his arms and looked up at him. "Don't worry, I won't let him accost you. Besides, he won't have a clue who August Peverell is—"_

"— _thank Merlin—"_

" _And he doesn't show up all that often," she said. Her brow furrowed. "I've never got the sense that Horace likes Lockhart much."_

" _Good," Harry said firmly._

_It won't be so bad if he's there, Harry told himself as they walked hand-in-hand back down to the dungeons. Before they'd left the broom cupboard, he'd touched the bump that shifted him back to August Peverell. It was interesting to stride down these familiar halls and stairways. He was so lost in thought that he stepped onto a moving platform, only to feel Ginny tug him back._

_"We're not going back to the dungeons," she said, amused. "Horace uses his private rooms for his parties. They're up on the sixth floor."_

" _Oh. Right," he said._

_They worked their way over to the correct sixth floor corridor. Harry played with the stars that dripped down her back, then stroked the smooth skin he found there._

" _August," she said, drawing out the word, and giving him a wicked smile._

_Harry pulled his hand from where it had been wandering just inside her dress and stroking her waist. "Sorry," he murmured._

_She snorted, and gave him a heated look. "No, you aren't. And neither am I."_

_Harry looked around in an effort to distract himself. "I think most of the students are at Hogsmeade; it's got to be a Hogsmeade weekend. Otherwise, wouldn't there be more?" It hadn't registered on him until just now that there was a decided lack of students. There were one or two he could see on other moving platforms. Some of them carried stacks of books; a couple others – by their size, they must be first-years, and not allowed at Hogsmeade – were shouting at each other way below them._

_His thumb brushed against the constellation of stars dangling down her back. Even in the dim light, they glowed as though with inner fire. Which is entirely possible, he thought. Ginny could've enchanted them herself, or even bought them that way. Whichever way it was, Harry liked it. It kept drawing his eye. He wondered what it was called._

" _What—"_

_But his question never even made it out of his mouth._

" _Ginny Weasley!"_

_Harry knew that voice, didn't he? He couldn't place it until he saw the corner of Ginny's mouth turn down in a faint grimace of distaste. It was gone again the next moment. When he turned, he saw Calista Dapifer standing on the moving platform below them and to the right. She wasn't alone; there was a group of people with her. They all wore clothes appropriate for a party, Harry realized. "They're part of the Slug Club?" he asked._

" _Yes," Ginny said. "Hello there, you lot!" she said in a louder voice._

" _Ginny, you brought someone?" a bearded man in a cheap suit asked._

" _Yes, I did," Ginny said, squeezing Harry's arm. "This is August."_

_Harry waved. It was like being ogled at the zoo, he thought, uncomfortable._

" _Ginny! You didn't tell me you were dating him," Calista squealed. "When we ran into each other in – Diagon Alley, I think, or was it Horizont Alley? – I remember you said you were just friends."_

_Harry suppressed a groan._

" _Things changed," Ginny said composedly._

_Calista gave an exaggerated look at her friends. "I'm getting so old if Ginny Weasley is dating someone and her brothers are allowing it."_

_To Harry's great relief, their platform stopped with a clang, and they made it to the sixth floor. Harry held the door for Ginny, then bent down to whisper in her ear as she passed: "You're sure we have to stay?" She chuckled and took his hand._

" _Cheer up," she told him. "There are always loads of people at these Slug Club parties. Tiberius usually comes, you can sit with him. Try to—"_

"— _get him to talk about potions," Harry agreed. The prospect of sitting a while with Tiberius McLaggen was not at all onerous. Not only could he find out what the potioneers made of the issue The Turnip had brought to light, but he could nudge the conversation toward Tiberius's history. I can ask him about Grandfather Fleamont, Harry realized. It would be a bit tricky, but Harry thought he could make August Peverell's interest in Fleamont Potter sound natural._

" _It won't be so bad," Ginny promised._

_Harry looked at her and smiled. "I know it won't," he told her._

_A house-elf stood at the open door to Slughorn's private rooms. She waved and gave them a toothy grin. "Welcome, welcome!" she said. "Mr. – Mr. Slughorn sir, he says to show you inside! Welcome, welcome!"_

_A chorus of voices sounded from behind them._

" _Thank you!" Ginny said, smiling._

" _Yes, thank you," Harry said._

" _She's new," Ginny said in a low voice, as they entered Slughorn's private rooms. "All the house-elves at Hogwarts bribe each other to work one of these – Horace gives excellent tips to them – oh, Merlin, that's new!"_

_She pointed. Harry looked and couldn't help gaping. There was a stained glass window that took up nearly all the opposite wall. Slughorn was Head of Slytherin – was it any wonder that it formed a picture of a giant viper? Antipathy toward that house aside, Harry felt a growing wonder looking at it. He whistled as the great eyes blinked, and the many-colored green scales shifted. Harry could recognize an enchanted bit of art when he saw one, and this was magnificent._

_Slughorn himself stood in front of the window, beaming at them. His chest was fully puffed with pride, nearly bursting through his grey-green robes. "My friends!" he cried aloud. "I'm so happy you could join me today." He was fairly vibrating with excitement._

" _Horace," Ginny said, "that window is simply amazing."_

" _Oh, that!" Slughorn said. "An old friend – you know – this was his gift to me."_

_Harry fought a smile._

_The window truly was magnificent; it reflected with the adornment on the back of Ginny's dress. Green sparked and the inner fire he'd so admired earlier grew and grew. Harry couldn't look away from it. But what is it called? Surely it had to have a name—_

"What  _is_ it called?" Harry asked thickly.

He opened his eyes. Dumbledore was gone, but Madame Pomfrey bustled around him. "What's that, Mr. Peverell?" she asked. When he didn't answer, was too focused on the receding pain in his head, she lowered her tone. "You've been sleeping the last day or so," she told him, sympathy wreathing her tone. "You've had a visitor… Ginny Weasley, she was at the party with you, though you don't remember, I'm sure."

"No," Harry said, wondering what the right answer was. His whole body was tense as he wished Ginny were here right now; that he was not all alone in the hospital wing with only Madame Pomfrey here. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"He had to take care of a few matters around the school," Madame Pomfrey said. She was casting freshening charms on the beds around them. "He'll be back – he's been here most of the time." Her curious gaze landed on him. "You know, you look an awful lot like him. Are you two related?"

"Distantly," Harry said. His palms started to sweat.

"Do you need some water?" she asked.

"No, thank you," Harry said. It was just then that his gaze fell on a rather elaborate curtain dividing one bed from the rest of the room. "Who's that?"

"It's Horace Slughorn," she said in a hushed voice. "He'll be here the next few weeks."

"What about me?" Harry asked, fearful of the answer. It'd been, what? Three, four, maybe even five days already?

She adjusted his pillow and didn't meet his eyes. "Dumbledore says he'll take you home tomorrow," she said. "I'm not sure how happy I am about that, you know. I think you at least ought to get checked at St. Mungo's—"

"No, I don't need that," Harry said firmly. "I will do quite well at home."

She rolled her eyes. "Exactly what Dumbledore said you'd say."

"I sleep better in my own bed," said Harry.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"I only  _just_ heard what happened!"

The tone in Molly Weasley's voice was worried enough that Harry attempted to rise from sleep. It was more difficult that he'd anticipated. It kept sucking him back under. There was a heavy weight on him, and he couldn't open his eyes.

"Dumbledore said he didn't want it bandied about." That came from Madame Pomfrey. "I should have known he'd be back to this hospital wing… I told him once I'd make a placard for his name."

"He and Ron were just the same, always getting into such scrapes," Molly said. There were tears in her voice. Try as he might to open his eyes, though, Harry couldn't quite manage it. More words were exchanged as Harry tried to decide what was happening. He was still in the hospital wing, but Molly was here? She didn't know August Peverell, except as the name of the man who was taking her daughter out on dates. Dumbledore must've decided that in order for him to fully recover, Harry must become Harry again.

"—Slughorn is here, too?"

"Yes," said Madame Pomfrey. She murmured a spell to light the lamps all around—

- _Oh, Horace, the gas lamps are beautiful! I love gas-lighting!_

Harry winced at the pain in his head.

"It was some sort of spell backlash," Madame Pomfrey was saying. "He'll be all right. You know how he helps Dumbledore… it was just a routine spell that backfired."

"He wasn't at that party, was he?" Molly said. "Ginny said it was awful, what happened."

"No, he wasn't, this happened after," Madame Pomfrey said. There was a hollow note in her voice that Harry – even in his befuddled state – recognized as a symptom of having her memory tampered with.  _Dumbledore_ , he thought, sighing. Dumbledore would hide his presence from that party, and would take steps to ensure that no one became suspicious that Harry Potter was August Peverell. It only made sense.

"Was it a duel?" Molly asked.

That made Harry wonder if he could somehow fight the elf magic. There were great blurry spots in his brain… could he pummel them enough so he could remember everything? He clung to his memory of the beginning of the party, and tried to force himself beyond it. There was a brightness behind his eyelids that he could almost  _see_. He fought against the dark spots in his memory, latching on to memories of faces… there was a cold-eyed man… the house-elf, Bobbins, cracked eggs on the plates, didn't she? Instead of yolks, whole Cornish game hens came out…  _Fight_ , he told himself.

"Are you certain the potions are safe?" Molly asked anxiously.

"As safe as I can make them," Madame Pomfrey said.

"But with  _The Turnip_ article…"

"I've gone over every single ingredient in my store-room," said Pomfrey. "I'm thinking of sending them a note of thanks, actually… it was a good reminder that I need to be more cautious. You know, I'd noticed that my potions were not as effective; it was frustrating. I started blaming the seventh years who help out around here… I didn't even  _think_ to look at the ingredients, the apothecaries have always been so reliable…"

"Arthur says the Ministry is scrambling, they wouldn't have wanted anyone to know what was going on. They're rather put out," said Molly. "Well, I say, thank Merlin for  _The Turnip—"_

Another stone dropped in Harry's mind, and memory seized him.

- _"Have you been following the news out of Russia? Pravda Volshevnika mentioned the Russian Ministry's been having troubles hunting down the vampires."_

" _I don't read other publications," Gwen said, pulling a sour face. "I haven't read anything other than my own columns in years. Never read a single Turnip article. No Pravda Volshevnika, or even Witch Weekly. It becomes too much of a competitive thing for me, I start wondering why other columnists receive more attention than I do."_

_Ginny's fingers pressed into his thigh. Harry was on the precipice of bursting into laughter right at the table. The corner of her lips twitched._

" _You're the best, Gwenny," one of her friends said._

" _They should hire you as an editor at The Turnip. They could've used a bit more guidance on their potions article."_

_Harry tried to ignore them and dug into his Cornish game hen with gusto. "This is delicious," he murmured to Ginny, while someone else quoted a line from their article from memory._

_Gwen pressed her hand to her heart, distaste etched on her face. "They published_ _that_ _? That's terribly weak. Everyone knows you need to make it more immersive for the reader. How do they have such a following with weak writing like that? I could write a better sentence in my sleep."_

_Harry huffed out a breath._

" _Here," said Ginny. "Try the sauce with it." She gave him a playful grin, dipped the bite of meat on her own fork in the creamy sauce, and brought it to his lips. She was right, it was even better with the sauce. It was delicious enough that Harry could almost ignore the fact that the Daily Prophet reporter was now "fixing" his own article._

" _You should rewrite the whole thing, then publish it. They're good enough at The Turnip, but are clearly amateurs. Show them how much better they can be."_

_Gwen drew herself up. "I don't think I could allow that article any more circulation than it already has. I am much, much closer to the Ministry than The Turnip; let me tell you, everyone is upset this went straight to the public without the Ministry having a say. You have to be careful what's said, you see. The Ministry already has to work so hard to ensure our world is peaceful and safe. Dredging all this up and putting it forth to every wizard in Britain undermines that. I would never stoop to that. I stand with the Ministry."_

_Harry wondered if the Ministry gave her a galleon every time she said that._

" _No one heard this from me, this stays here at this table, but the Ministry is actively working to come up with a solution. They're voting on a measure I think will help," Gwen said. "You'll hear about it on the twenty-second."_

Harry gasped for air.

"What's happening?" Molly cried. She gripped his hand so tightly the bones moved.

"I don't know, Molly, I'd better send a message to Dumbledore," Pomfrey said. The sound of her footsteps echoed – and echoed – and echoed.  _They sound like a clock ticking_ , Harry thought dreamily. The pain from  _remembering_ some of what happened at the party was receding… or perhaps Harry was moving away from it.

Harry slept again.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry might let Dumbledore float him down the hall toward the floo, but Harry would be damned if he was going to let him carry him through the flames like a small, inept child. So when he tumbled out of the hearth and lay on the floor, dazed and sick, Harry only had himself to blame. Thankfully, Dumbledore had the tact to simply reach down and help him up.

"What did you tell them?" Harry finally muttered. He leaned over the sink, trying not to vomit. The floo was never particularly easy on his stomach.

"I told them you were hit with a spell backlash," Dumbledore said. "And asked them not to tell anyone else."

"They won't, then," said Harry.

Dumbledore helped him up the stairs, then stood aside from the library door, allowing Harry to walk in on his own legs. Unsteady as those legs were, Harry did not want to be humiliated in front of his oldest friends.

"Oh, Harry, you look a fright!" Hermione cried out.

"That's what happens," Harry said lamely. It was not in him to lie just now. Instead, he sank down on the sofa. "I'll be fine."

"Two days more of rest, and I'm sure he'll be good as new," Dumbledore said cheerfully.

"We'll make sure he gets it," promised Ron.

Dumbledore saw himself out. Ron built a fire in the hearth and turned on the wireless, tuning it to a Quidditch match. Hermione said she was heading down for some tea, and asked if he would like some. Harry murmured a refusal, closed his eyes, and wished there were a way he could've asked Dumbledore to take him to see Ginny before he came home. Or even – if she were willing – just stay with her at her cottage while he recovered from whatever the house-elf had done to him. But Dumbledore had assumed – with Ginny's prodding, of course – that August went to the party to finagle information from Slughorn about potions, and that Ginny was only there because she got the owl canceling the party too late.

"You're sure you don't want me to tell Mum you're home

?" Ron asked. "She'd make you an entire feast, you know. And – and you know she's good with tonics."

"You saw all the bottles Dumbledore left, I doubt Harry needs any more tonics."

Ginny's voice.

Warm relief filled him. Harry relaxed against the pillows, releasing tension he hadn't even known he carried. He'd thought he wasn't going to be able to see her until he was fully recovered. The dream came back to him: "I've been here every day," she'd said. Even if she hadn't been able to show up to Hogwarts, it was wonderful she was here now.

"Ginny!" Ron said, not nearly as pleased as Harry. "What are you doing here? When did you get here?"

"I've been here for at least an hour," Ginny said, unperturbed.

"Why didn't I see you?" Ron challenged. "Harry's had a hard time – he didn't want company!"

"I don't know, Ron, why didn't you notice your own little sister was sitting in the same room as you?" Ginny asked slowly.

Harry smuggled a smile out of sight. She'd probably disillusioned herself.

"You always do this!" Ron said. "I'm sorry, Harry, she always does this. Ever since she was little, she'd always turn up somewhere, just when we were talking about…" But Ron's voice trailed away, and his ears turned red. "She's always just appearing out of nowhere," he finished lamely.

"I don't mind if she's here," Harry said.

It was an understatement. As the minutes passed – and Ron and Hermione didn't leave the room – the early relaxation disappeared. He wanted to  _talk_ to her, ask her what she remembered and if she was all right, and make sure she didn't gloss over any of the pain she'd felt. In the back of his mind, he wanted to remind her that it had been much, much longer than an hour, and did she remember what they'd done in the broom cupboard? When Ron moved to putter with the wireless again, Harry chanced a glance at her.

She sat on one of the smaller sofas with her feet tucked under her. The butterfly pin with its lazily fluttering wings was back in her hair, clipping the red strands away from her face. Instead of robes, she wore a Weird Sisters shirt and black trousers. Her feet were bare. After he'd looked over every inch of her he could – just to make sure she wasn't injured – his gaze went to her face. There was a smile there, and her eyes were clear.

Somewhat more settled, he resolved to wait until Ron and Hermione left.

It took another hour before Ron had to get ready to go to work, and Hermione apologized, but she really had to take a nap. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said with a giant yawn. "But I've got to lay down."

"It's fine, Hermione," Harry said, trying not to sound too eager.

As soon as her footsteps disappeared up the steps, Ginny came to kneel next to the sofa. "I knew very quickly you were going to be all right, but I – Merlin, Harry, I was scared," she said in a rushed whisper. "Oh damn," she muttered. Then: " _Muffliato_." The color in her cheeks was high, and there was a sheen in her brown eyes.

Harry reached for her hand. She gripped him so tightly, his bones knocked together. "I had no idea what Bobbins was flinging at us," she said. "Everyone else was on the ground, the house-elf was running toward – toward  _not_ Slughorn, but the Polyjuice hadn't totally worn off. Then she flung out at us—"

"Wait, you remember?" Harry asked. "How is that—"

She gave him a fierce look. "You put a shield up between me and Bobbins," she told him. "The spell rebounded right off of it, and hit you full force. Everyone else got some of it. I talked to some of them already. They don't remember what happened, or they're at least  _pretending_ not to remember."

Harry thought about this. "I'm glad I shielded you," he said.

"I know you are," Ginny said, exasperated. "Listen, I…" Two bright spots of color appeared high on her cheeks. She drew closer to him, stomach pressed against the sofa. Her hair fell like a curtain around them. It draped over his shoulder and tickled his nose. Her lips lightly brushed against his. "Have a care, next time, if there is a next time," she said in such a low voice, Harry almost couldn't hear her, despite how close they were. "I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you, either," Harry said. "I've got a real girlfriend for the first time in my life," he added, stupidly, because all of his nerves were jumping.

But she laughed and kissed him again, harder, so perhaps it hadn't been quite so stupid.

Harry wanted to pull her up with him so they could nestle together. It would be sleep like that, he thought. Before he could make that suggestion, however, she pulled back.

"I have to go," she said, with great regret. Her fingertips brushed his forehead. "I – I've been trying to piece together exactly what happened. I'm supposed to meet with one of the other guests… I was supposed to be there five minutes ago."

Harry looked at her. "Do I need to worry about your safety?" he asked.

"No," said Ginny, shaking her head. "No. I promise. And once you're back on your feet, and not at Grimmauld Place, I'll tell you everything I know. I promise. Are you mad that I have to leave?"

"No, absolutely not," Harry said, surprised. "I know you need to figure this stuff out." It was who she was, he'd learned that over the last couple of months. He sat up, and fixed the butterfly pin in her hair – it was looking rather bedraggled. "I just wish I could go with you."

A smile bloomed and melted the anxiety off her face. "Thank you," she said. After one more kiss, she left.

Ron thundered down the stairs a few moments later, just as Harry was dozing off. He didn't have it in him to think of the broom cupboard in such a way that would cause him embarrassment in front of his best mate, but he was hazily reviewing those moments, and looking forward to feeling well enough to do it again.  _Dumbledore said just a few more days and you'll be fine again,_ he reminded himself. Just think – Slughorn's got a couple weeks of recovery he's got to suffer through.

"You're really out of it," Ron said, worried.

Harry's gaze landed on him. The purple and grey uniform of the Knight Bus made his head spin and his stomach feel woozy—

" _You know, he's dressed like Stan," Bunson said. "Maybe the doll's the newest Knight Bus driver. Merlin knows, it's got all the brains required."_

_Harry felt real, true annoyance fizz inside him. The Knight Bus may not take brains, but people chose to drive it for many different reasons, all of which he'd discussed with Ron – who was better and braver than any of these people. Ginny's hand twisted in his suit, a silent warning not to say anything. His temper was slow to dissipate, however, and any enjoyment he'd previously had in the evening was gone._

" _I'd rather leave, then play this game," Harry muttered._

_But it was too late. Slughorn was already divided all of the magical cards, and doled it out to everyone. Both his and Ginny's read a hastily scrawled "impartial observer". "You'll help them solve the case," he said, his mustache wavering. His forehead was shining with sweat. "It's fine."_

_Harry and Ginny exchanged looks. Slughorn had been dismayed earlier that someone specific hadn't shown up – Harry wondered why one of them couldn't have taken that person's place? But he was clapping his hands, gesturing toward the doll, and explaining things so rapidly Harry only heard one word in ten._

" _It's just another murder mystery dinner," Calista said, rolling her eyes. "I've done a couple of these before. My husband loves them."_

" _This one is special, my dear!" Slughorn beamed at her._

" _I always guess before everyone," Gwen said. "It's too difficult to surprise me."_

" _I always think it's the house-elf," said Calista. "The house-elf did it."_

 _Slughorn snapped his fingers and the gas lamps dimmed, and a source-less light began to shine over the doll. It looked somehow more real than it had a moment ago. Before, it'd looked like a bunch of pillows stuffed into a Knight Bus uniform._ It's just the light _, Harry told himself._ The light meant the game's started.  _The placard he'd noticed earlier rose up from the table where the doll was, and the name 'Wizard Boddy' appeared in blood-red letters._

" _Daruna, my dear," Slughorn said. "I believe it's your turn first."_

_Daruna Terpaliklar unfolded her card – this one was in the shape of a heart. "I voted for myself two hundred and… seventy-three times in the Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor contest," she said. Her words had started with a laugh, but ended in faint confusion. "This is part of the game?" she asked._

" _Yes," Slughorn said. "It's a new style."_

_Daruna looked down at the doll. Her brow was slightly furrowed._

" _Don't tell me you already figured it out?" Calista joked._

" _No, no," said Daruna. "I just… it's nothing."_

-a hand shook his shoulder.

"Whuzzat?" Harry said, blinking. There was an odd feeling in his head, like someone had stuffed a pillow in it. He scrabbled at his temples. Remembering this bit of the party hadn't been nearly as bad; Dumbledore was right, he was recovering from whatever the house-elf had done to him.

"You were sort of sleeping," said Ron. "But also sort of mumbling about Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor competition." Worry and amusement warred in Ron's blue eyes. "Is that something you're hoping for? Personally, I'd rather be on a chocolate frog."

"No – I – no," said Harry. "It's this spell backlash… it's making me…" Damned if he could think of the right word.

"I get it, mate," Ron said sympathetically. "Listen, Hermione's not feeling well… I can't skive off any more work, but I could just quit. Do you need someone to – you know – stay here?"

"No," Harry said sharply. "No, don't just  _quit_ —"

"It's just the Knight Bus," said Ron, shrugging.

"It's not like driving the Knight Bus is stupid," Harry said. A low anger – not at Ron – kindled in his stomach. "It's a  _job_ , isn't it? Who cares if it isn't flashy?"

"I don't," Ron reassured him. "I don't care if it isn't flashy. I don't care about jobs that  _are_ flashy. I'd quit being the Minister of Magic if I wanted to. Honestly, after Voldemort, I don't give a fuck about what puts galleons in my vault."

Harry sank back against the couch cushions. "Good," he muttered. "Good."

Ron peered at him. "Hermione usually calls me barmy if I say shit like that. Makes me wonder if maybe you've gone round the bend."

"It's the backlash," Harry told him.

"I'll send Hermione a patronus, let her know that you may need her to check on you," Ron said. "Did Ginny leave already? Maybe I can ask her to come back."

"Said she had an appointment," said Harry, who was suddenly so tired his words were starting to slur. "I'll be fine, Ron."

"Well, let me know if you're… you know—"

"On the verge of death?"

Ron waved his hand. "Or whatever. I'll dump my passengers in the nearest field, let 'em sort their own selves out for once."

Harry managed a laugh, but could not quite manage to keep his eyes open even a moment longer. As he drifted off, his mind went back to the night of Slughorn's party, but that brilliant part before it, holding Ginny and touching her in the broom cupboard… feeling her hands on him… the way she'd…

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"You're sure you're up for this?" Ginny asked.

They stood at the end of Stan Shunpike's street. Harry was more confused than ever. The houses were few and far between, and they were mostly of the same aesthetic: tumbledown and uncared for. Most were hovels.

"I'm sure," Harry said, after a moment. In truth, it had been one week since he'd been hit with elf magic, and he still felt off. His head was clearer, he was no longer prone to falling asleep at any moment, but there was still something wrong. The odd snatches of conversations he guessed must have happened during the hours of Slughorn's party he could not remember kept reverberating inside his head. It was hard to let go of the frustration. He looked at Ginny. "You know, I used to hear stories that if someone lost a limb, they could feel pain in it. 'Phantom pain', they call it. I feel like that, with the memories."

Ginny pressed against his side. "I'm sorry," she told him.

"I… I'm sorry I keep going on about it," Harry told her. And it was true; whenever they had a moment alone, Harry couldn't help but bring it up, even though what he really wanted to do was kiss her whenever her brother and Hermione were out of the room. Even now, when he was supposed to be concentrating on finding out whatever they could from Stan Shunpike's home, it kept coming up.

"It wouldn't bother me even if you hadn't just experienced some magical trauma," Ginny said waspishly. Harry squeezed her hand. The only time in the last week Ginny'd expressed impatience was when he kept apologizing.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Ready," Ginny nodded.

He draped his father's Cloak over the both of them. They walked in step, holding on to each other's waists, and made their way down the rutted street, and to a small, small house. It somehow managed to be two stories; a single dormer window peeked out at them. The glass panes were broken. Stan Shunpike had been in Azkaban for more than four years; his mother had died in the meantime. It had an even more decrepit look than the rest of the hovels on the street.  _Poor Stan_ , he thought, as he headed up the stairs. He'd had no idea of the childhood accident that had given him a penis that looked like a coiled spring. He hadn't know his mother had been driven away from her pureblood family for the "crime" of marrying a Muggle. He hadn't known that so many people had had such terrible things to say about him. Harry was rather somber as they took off the Cloak. There wasn't much to explore in the house. Rats scurried across the floor. There were few pictures on the walls.

"I'm going to take a peek upstairs," Ginny said. "You look in the bedroom down here, I want to get out of here as soon as possible."

Harry nodded. There was an odd smell, as though the floor had been smeared by grave dirt.

And so it was that when Bobbins and her dark wizard master appeared, Harry and Ginny were separated. He didn't have time to react: there were two resounding CRACKS! in the room Harry'd just left, a deep voice muttered a few wards, and Harry began to panic.

"There, you see, Bobbins?" he said in a soothing voice. "Everything is right where you left it."

"It looks so shiny and new," Bobbins said. "Oh, Mistress was always so messy… but she left it nice and tidy before she died. Didn't she? She always hoped Stan would come home from Azkaban… she used to dream about it. I'd tell her 'Order me, Mistress, I can bring him out'. But she  _never let me_." The rage in the elf's voice was intense. "But he was  _my family_."

"I'm your family now, Bobbins," the wizard said quietly. Harry pressed his ear to the door. He was tricking Bobbins somehow, Harry knew it. There was no way the house elf could look around this place and call it tidy.  _Unless she's insane_ , Harry thought.

"You're my family now, Master," Bobbins agreed.

"I give you the orders now."

"You give me the orders now," Bobbins told him. "And Master lets me still love my Stanny, doesn't he, Master?"

"Of course," the wizard said. "I loved him, too. You know that. You know how heart-broken I am that he died. But we two will have to soldier on together. That was his dying wish, you know. I know you weren't there, but I was. I saw what was done to him. The things that happened… his last order to you was for you to bond with me."

"I know," Bobbins said. Her voice was so soft, Harry strained to hear it. "I know. I could feel it. And he gave you his blood."

"Yes. He did. He wanted his two favorite people to be together."

"Not like his  _other_ friends," Bobbins spat. "So evil, they were, always  _mocking_ him."

"But you repaid them for that, didn't you?"

"I did – oh, Master. I repaid them, yes, I did."

Pain lanced through his head without warning—

_Harry stared at the other guests. "Ginny, this isn't right," he muttered. "Something's wrong."_

" _It's part of the game?" Ginny said. But there was a faint question in her voice that told Harry she sensed it too. He gripped her elbow and pulled her to the side._

" _Slughorn just wouldn't do this," he told her earnestly. "Look, these people are part of the Slug Club, right?"_

" _Most of them are new members, but yes," she said._

" _He wouldn't humiliate them like this." It was true. After Daruna had said that she sometimes made up the letter writers seeking advice from her column at Witch Weekly, Harry'd seen her face crumple. And he knew for damned sure that someone like Gwen would not admit to bragging about winning some journalism award – the Mercurial Wind award, Harry thought – when she'd been the only nominated entrant. One woman had even confessed to being in love with Stan Shunpike and still not over the fact he'd never loved her back. "I used to wonder what it'd be like to have a springy dick," one of the men had confessed. "I envied that."_

" _It's true that I've wondered for the last half hour if he hates them," Ginny admitted. "I_ know  _he spiked their drinks with something… probably Veritaserum…"_

_Slughorn wouldn't do that even if he hated them._

_Several of the others started bickering while Harry looked around the room, trying to understand. The doll was looking more real than ever. He squinted, and took a few steps forward. The face was doughy white, and the expression grotesque. His heart started hammering in his chest. Something was wrong here; the sense of wrongness was growing. Wounds appeared on the doll… words were carved onto it. Harry squinted, trying to read them._

_Trying to look as casual as possible, Harry moved through the crowd. Ginny followed him. Harry stopped where they'd entered. What had once been a door was now an expanse of wall. Looking all around him, he cast a spell at the wall. The jet of light splattered against whatever wards the person orchestrating this had put up._

" _Damn it," Ginny said fiercely. For a few intense seconds they just stared at one another. "This was supposed to be a date!"_

_But the party was much more than a normal Slug Club party._

_Someone began to scream._

" _OH FOR MERLIN'S FUCKING SAKE THAT'S STAN SHUNPIKE!" one of the wizards shouted._

_Harry grabbed Ginny's hand, and they rushed to peer in on the other room. Harry's stomach dropped. "Wizard Boddy" the doll was no longer there. Instead, the body of Stan Shunpike – cheeks sunken and hollow, eyes frozen – was levitating over the table. Accusations had been carved into his body, and were now marching off of it to hang in the air. "You convinced the public so thoroughly that I was a Death Eater, that no one would listen when I said I wasn't," said one message. "You mocked the fact the healers at St. Mungo's could never reverse the spell damage to my penis every day for seven years," said another. One by one, more accusations were flung into the air, pulled off the body. Harry stared in horror as, one by one, the guests began to shout it wasn't true._

" _Are we still supposed to guess who killed him?" asked Ginny. "I wouldn't be surprised if any one of them did it."_

" _Me either," said Harry. "Me either."_

 _But his attention was caught by a flurry of robes. Slughorn, who'd been so elusive this last hour, had just returned._ Caution _, he warned himself. He wished he had his Cloak. He wished he'd thought to bring The Marauder's Map. That relic of his father's years at Hogwarts was buried in Harry's school trunk. With one look, Harry could prove his instincts were right, that the man who was pretending to be Slughorn had brought these people here for darker reasons._

But why?  _He thought, perplexed. All the guests here had hurt Stan Shunpike… why would someone care enough to do all of this?_

_Harry pointed his wand downward, and muttered the spell that would illuminate the magic done in this room. There were thick clumps of magic that spread out like slug trails around the rooms. Harry found one that looked colder and darker, and followed it. Bobbins nearly ran into him, but he dodged her, and she kept heading toward the larger crowd._

_The trail led to the magnificent window Slughorn had been so proud of… Feeling sick, Harry stared at it. It was only now that he remembered… hadn't Slughorn been wearing a rather resplendent set of robes? Robes that matched the scales of this snake exactly? Except… the snake no longer looked magnificent, but looked sick… nearly on the verge of death._

" _Reparifarge," Harry said._

_Horace Slughorn tumbled out of the windowsill, frozen, blue, and nearly dead. His eyebrows and mustache were coated with ice, his fingers were swollen and black, and Harry stared down at him in horror. "Ginny!"_

" _I can help him," she said, falling to her knees and raising her wand._

_But the others were streaming into the room, fleeing the body of the man they'd discussed so viciously. Bobbins the elf harried them on, screaming: "YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY BOY!"_

_Harry stared, shocked. Bobbins's boy?_

_The false Slughorn shuffled into view. The disguise was wearing off – the hair now sprouting on Slughorn's bald head was dark and wavy. "Hurry, Bobbins," he commanded._

" _YOU WERE ALL TERRIBLE TO HIM – YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HIS FRIENDS—"_

" _Oh, please," Daruna said scornfully. "Is he still crying over that? It's been years."_

_Harry could not help but think this was quite stupid of her._

" _BOBBINS, HURRY!"_

 _Harry looked back and forth from the false Slughorn to the house-elf and back again._ I have to find out who this is,  _he thought. But the house-elf was insane with rage – Harry had to protect these people – even now she was twisting her hands. A globe of light appeared in her palms, spinning faster and faster and faster._

" _Don't let them see my face," the false Slughorn warned Bobbins._

"AUGUST, LOOK OUT!"  _Ginny shouted._

_Harry realized too late the blast of magic was going to hit all of them, even Ginny, who knelt over the real Slughorn, trying to keep him alive. "GET DOWN!" he shouted to everyone, running forward. At the last second, he screamed: "PROTEGO!" and a shield erupted between Ginny and the elf. The wave of light reached him—_

Harry sucked in a breath, and then let it out as silently as possible. The all-too-familiar, muzzy-headedness was back. It weighed on him. Harry wanted to sink down to the floor in Stan Shunpike's old home and rest until he could think straight again. Unfortunately, right now was the worst possible moment for this.

"—so  _cruel_ to him, Master," Bobbins said. "Always mocking him – he couldn't help what happened."

"You are absolutely right, my dear," said the wizard. "It's why I helped you plan your party. They were cruel. Thoughtless."

His heart hammered in his chest. If it were just this man, he'd risk a duel, if only because Ginny was trapped on the stairs behind them. One wrong move, and she—

The dark wizard was still talking. "You see why I had to have a house elf."

"Yes, master, of course, master," Bobbins said, bowing so low her ruddy nose scraped the floor. "And you were oh-so-kind enough to take care of the people who hurt my Stanny so badly."

"You're a good elf, Bobbins," the wizard said. "Stan always said you were the best. Ever since you came to live here after his grandfather passed away." Harry was close enough to him to see the revulsion on his face as he took in his surroundings. Bobbins did not notice this. She stared up at him with shining eyes.

"He was such a good boy," Bobbins said earnestly. "And they were so cruel, always on about – about that spell damage. And cruel when the Ministry locked him in Azkaban. That reporter got less than she deserved, you heard her, master, she was the one who got him locked away."

"I'm sorry we never found out who it was, I know that was so important to you."

Harry's hand tightened on his wand. Unless he was very much wrong,  _this_ was the man who had killed Stan Shunpike. None of those guests had had a thing to do with it. Bobbins was being manipulated… His anger at Bobbins fled at how monumentally she was being deceived.

"But don't worry, my dear Bobbins," he said. "I know who they are…. I'll keep watch. As long as you are loyal to me, I'll be loyal to you."

Bobbins's face crumpled. "I only know the one name." She slapped herself on the face three times, each harder than the last. The dark wizard made no attempt to stop her. "Stupid Bobbins! Master's new elf is stupid!"

"I remember the names," he said, once she'd thrown herself to the floor.

_Obliviation isn't a hex._

Sweat beaded on his brow. If he made a mistake, and if the wards the dark wizard had put up also blocked that particular charm, he would have to run for it or stand and fight against an elf… an elf who had powers Harry still didn't quite understand.

"Tell me the names again, master," Bobbins implored.

"Gwen Moesau, Daruna Terpaliklar, Gin—"

" _Obvliviate_ ," Harry murmured in a low, low voice. Warm relief slashed through him when the spell did not collide with the ward and create a splash of color alerting the others to Harry's presence. The charm hit the other wizard before he could finish speaking Ginny's name; his face fell into blankness as Harry erased the names of those who had been at the party from his memory.

"Who else, master?" Bobbins, who did not appear to notice anything, jumped up and down.

"No – never you mind, Bobbins," the wizard said severely. "We will – we can worry about them later." He put his hands on his hips. "Gather up everything, shrink it, and bring it with us. I don't want to risk the chance of anyone getting nosy."

Harry held his breath. There was a great roaring sound, and all the moldering furniture, the pictures on the wall, the rotten food, all of it whirled in the air like a tornado, and shrunk down into tiny specks that Bobbins placed into a small pouch. With a snap of her fingers, it disappeared. It took only moments – Harry was still holding his breath – and everything was gone. While the fear of getting caught was still there, cold disappointment slowly blotted that out. They'd barely had a chance to find  _anything_ out about Stan Shunpike, and it was taken away.

There were two loud  _CRACKS!_ and both Bobbins and the dark wizard disappeared. Harry blasted at the wards in the next second; another red jet joined his from across the room. Together, he and Ginny dismantled the wards.

As soon as the wards were down, Harry rushed forward, flinging off his Cloak. They met in the middle of the empty room.

"Are you okay?" he muttered. He peered at her closely: there was a gash on her cheek that looked quite deep.

"I'm fine," she said. Her voice shook. "I was just scared."

Harry rocked back. In the last few months, he'd seen her in just as terrifying situations – in fact, he would consider the revenant to be far more frightening. But he'd never seen her eyes so wide, face so white, or her lips so… trembly. "You were that scared?" he asked.

"I didn't know if you'd go charging in there," she said tightly. "I wouldn't have even blamed you if you had. It's killing me he got away. But Merlin. Bobbins – she – you were in the hospital wing for  _days_."

Harry put his hands on her shoulders. "You're not wrong that I was tempted. Probably if I was still sixteen, I would have. But I don't know what she can do to me. I don't know if anything I could do could block her. And I'd still have to worry about the wizard."

"You don't remember seeing it," Ginny said. "It was shocking. The way she threw power like that… it was shocking. I didn't know if—"

"You didn't know if I'd think before I acted," Harry said. He squinted at her. "It's not that I… I know that I don't remember what happened, but the fact that I don't is enough for me. I'm not going to be stupid and provoke a house-elf."

"Okay," Ginny said. "Okay. Thank you."

Her shoulders fell. "I think we've got everything we could from here," she said.

"I wish—"

"I know," Ginny said. "But I think we should go back with everything we have and tell the others."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"Dumbledore has something like this," Harry said. He was looking up at a mirror that Ginny'd brought out into the main area of the church. Well, it was  _closest_ to a mirror, he supposed. Instead of immobile glass, a large frame held a silvery liquid that rippled back and forth. "It'll show your memories?"

"Yes," said Ginny.

"Brilliant," said Harry.

"We need to them to know everything," Ginny pointed out. "This is… larger than just one party," she added, troubled. "It's dark."

"I agree," said Harry.

Neville came in, carrying a potted plant that had tentacles waving out of it. It kept trying to strangle Neville, but he kept swatting it like an errant baby krup. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "This Venomous Tentacula can't be trusted."

"Can  _any_ of them be trusted?" Harry asked.

Neville thought about that. "Some of them are better trained than others."

Luna leaned forward. "How do you train a plant?"

"Lots of swearing," Neville told her.

Ginny made a slight noise of impatience. Harry focused on her, offering her a small shrug in apology. In truth, he wasn't very eager to find out if this experience was going to be painful or not. The best he could do, Harry realized, as Ginny wafted her memories toward the mirror, was just live through it. The memories caught on the surface of the silvery liquid and held. Harry closed his eyes, and braced himself for the pain. Chatter of half-remembered voices filled the air. They were introducing themselves.

" _I love the gas lamps, Horace. I love gas-lighting."_

" _It's very romantic, Gwen, I agree."_

Neville let out a bark of startled laughter. "I know her! She works for  _The Daily Prophet_. She's got a real high opinion of herself."

"Is she the one who usually asks people who their favorite columnist is, and why is it her?" Luna asked. "Because I think I've met her."

"That would be her," said Ginny.

There were few tidbits of interest throughout the rest of Ginny's memories. Even after the parlor game that the false Slughorn set up began, the other members of the party continued to speak ill of everything from the Greek Ministry, to the latest play performed by students at WADA, from Stan Shunpike, to – shockingly – Luna.

" _Stan Shunpike's a cunt with a spring instead of a dick," one of the men said. "But I'd still rather_ him  _here than Luna Lovegood."_

" _Oh, Merlin, don't start that again."_

"So it was actually the house-elf," Neville said, when it was finished. He looked shocked. The silvery liquid in the mirror no longer held memories in it. Ginny was replacing them in bottles.

"We think she made it a condition of her service to the dark wizard who bonded with her," Ginny said. "The wizard acted like it was all Bobbins idea—"

"But he was very manipulative," Harry said fairly. "Maybe she thought it was her idea?" He sighed, and put his chin in his hands. "I can't make everything fit yet," he said, frustrated. "How Stan got out of Azkaban, how he ran into that dark wizard, when he died... none of it makes sense."

Neville shrugged. "Stan's house-elf loved him. Some dark wizard needed elf magic for something. He used Bobbins's love for Stan to accomplish that. Seems simple."

"But house-elves are tied to families," Ginny said. "Stan was the end of that line. His mother was banished by Stan's grandfather for marrying a Muggle, but Bobbins went to the Shunpikes when the old man died. Bobbins should've died when Stan did. How'd the dark wizard… the one who orchestrated that game… how'd he supersede that?"

"House-elves die when their families die out?" Harry asked, troubled.

"Yeah, they do," Neville told him. He looked as troubled as Harry felt. "I hadn't thought of that. You're sure there was no relation?"

"Positive," Ginny said. "I did a lot of investigating into his family this last week. He was the last."

"You know," said Neville. "I was just thinking we didn't have enough mysteries to solve."

Harry laughed and the others joined in.

"Did you recognize him?" Luna asked.

Harry shook his head. He'd looked a little familiar, but he could've been anyone.

Later that evening, the speculation finally died down. Ginny sat on the floor and leaned up against his knees. Luna'd made popcorn some time before, and all of them were eating steadily out of the bowls. Every once in a while, Ginny tossed a kernel to the Venomous Tentacula Neville was baby-sitting. The tentacles flailed and writhed in a way that never failed to make Harry laugh.

"I think I know why that man hates me," Luna said, after the Venomous Tentacula went back to normal. Harry peered at her, slightly anxious. That moment in Ginny's memories had been particularly scathing.

"Luna," Harry said. "While I don't think – at all - that they deserved to have their secrets blasted like that—"

"I beg to differ," Ginny muttered.

Harry stifled a smile. "Well…"

"Forgive me for speaking for you, Harry," Ginny said. Then continued: "But what I think he's trying to say, Luna, is that it's like Father Christmas's prat of a brother came with a big bag, dumped some springy dicks out on the table, and Transfigured them into people."

Neville roared with laughter at that.

"Some of them might be decent," Harry put in.

"Sure," said Ginny.

"I don't care what some stranger thinks of me," Luna said tranquilly. "But I've never met him, I don't think, so I'm curious. I can only think of one person who might loathe me like that." Her eyes widened and started to pop excitedly. "All those years! Daddy thought Stubby Boardman was Sirius Black for years, and was not shy about reporting it! What if that man was secretly Stubby Boardman? That would explain his vendetta."

Harry choked on his mouthful of popcorn.

Ginny leaned over and grinned at Luna. "Want me to find out for you?"

"Oh, yes," said Luna. "Yes, please."

Not long after that, Luna drifted away. Neville soon followed, gripping the Venomous Tentacula by the base. The tentacles drooped and swayed. "Look at it, you gave it too much popcorn," Neville told Ginny. But he was smiling as he said it, cheerful as ever.

When they were finally alone, Harry dropped down behind her, curving his body around hers. Ginny made a soft sound of approval. Brushing the hair away from the nape of her neck, Harry pressed a kiss there. Goosebumps rose up on her skin as he watched. His hands rested on her thighs; he was stroking them, but barely. This was hardly private; Neville or Luna could walk back in at any moment.

Harry nearly forgot that when she tilted her head to give him more access. He pressed small kisses against her, and felt it against his lips when her pulse began to race. Her heat stirred his own, and it did not take very much time at all for him to harden.

"Ginny," he said hoarsely.

She squirmed in his arms, restless. He knew why, and he locked his arm around her waist, and pulled her tighter against him. Sighing at the feel of her bum, he whispered, "Ginny."

"Harry," she said.

"It's been longer than an hour since the broom cupboard," he pointed out. He pressed a kiss just under the crescent of her ear. "A  _lot_ longer." His thumb stroked her ribcage. "Can we go… anywhere?" He'd been about to ask her to take him back to her cottage, but seemed too forward.

"Anywhere?" Ginny asked. She stretched her arms over her head, and turned to give him a teasing look. "Did you want to go to the Burrow?"

Harry huffed out a laugh and lightly squeezed her side. "No," he said firmly.

She slowly shifted until she was out of his arms and kneeling in between his legs. "Do you want to come home with me?"

Harry was on his feet and tugging her up with him the next moment. "Yes," he said. "Yes. I do."

They grabbed their cloaks and things with a flurry of motion that did very little to halt Harry's excitement. It wasn't until the cold night air hit him as they exited the church that he was able to think.  _Calm down_ , he ordered himself.  _You don't want to splinch your dangly bit_. It was hardly dangling now, though; it was stiff and pointing straight toward the Apparition point as though urging him onward.

Despite this, Harry managed to Apparate to the outside of the cottage, and watched as Ginny tapped her wand against the mailbox. Her name appeared in bright, silvery letters, and her corner of the space she shared with four others was revealed. Her chuckle as she took down the wards and unlocked the door echoed the giddy excitement in his belly. They were not so light-headed they forgot to protect themselves.

" _Salvia hexia, salvia bombarda,_ " Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the windows and the doors.

"Are you expecting an invasion?" Ginny asked at the latter, smiling at him.

Harry shrugged, not wanting to admit out loud that he did not want anything to interrupt them, up to and including an attack from unknown enemies.

A moment later, she disappeared behind the curtain that led to her bed. Reminded of Death Eaters and dark wizards, Harry added another ward on the window. It was a powerful one; Harry could feel the heat of it from where he stood.

 _It's better you calmed down_ , he told himself. The thoughts and fantasies building in his head all involved sinking into the wet heat he'd only felt through her knickers. Most of him wanted that; an instinct told him he needed to be patient.

So when Ginny said his name, and he turned to look at her.  _Patience_ , he reminded himself, seeing both nerves and excitement in the high color on her cheeks, and the set of her shoulders. Instead of yanking her into his arms and kissing her as fiercely as he wanted, Harry walked forward slowly, not taking his eyes off her. They met in the middle.  _Gentle_. Harry cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

It was different, kissing her in a place where there any interruptions were unlikely. Need grew. Heat was tangible between them. But instead of picking her up and carrying her behind that curtain to find the bed beyond – and his arms ached to do just that – Harry stroked her arms, her back, her sides, and then back to graze her jaw with his fingertips.

Her hand came up between them to brush against his chest.

Harry kissed her for what felt like several sunlit days. The need to be patient seeped into him until he was no longer thinking of anything but kissing her, stroking her, and it was she who finally broke the kiss. Her lips were swollen and her eyes glazed in the low light of the lamps.

"Harry – I – the sofa?"

She led him there, but when she sat him down and made to straddle him again, he stretched out on his side instead and patted the spot next to him. She reclined facing him. The heat between them was stoked higher, and Harry's hand shook as he tucked the hair away from her face. This time, when she touched his chest, a pulse of pleasure had him straining his hips toward her, pressing his erection into her thigh.

His hand slid down to her bum, kneading it, pulling her closer.

Their kisses grew hungrier.

Harry tugged her shirt out of her trousers and skimmed her stomach with his fingers. He stroked the warm, soft skin, brushed his thumb over her navel and felt her muscles quiver under his touch.

"Harry," she whispered against his mouth.

She was wearing a bra this time. He could feel the rough lace on his palm.

"What color is it?" he asked raggedly.

"Green," she said. "But – I mean – you can look."

He went after her buttons, then, fumbling to get them undone with one hand, and cursing inwardly that they were so small and slippery. "Damn it," he muttered, when one was playing particularly hard to get.

Ginny chuckled, and helped.

Harry pulled back onto his elbow to look at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining, and her bra was gauzy and thin enough that he could see her nipples were hard. He had to pause a moment, take three deep breaths, and remind himself it would not be patient at all if he were to rip it off her.  _Patience, patience, patience_.

Instead of ripping it off her, he slid down a little, and sucked her nipple right into his mouth, bra and all. He was reward with a breathy gasp, and her hand in his hair, holding him close to her. His tongue rasped against it, and it was her hips rocking against him.

"Harry, Harry," she said.

He lifted his head, and she fumbled behind her back, squirmed, and the green lace was no longer a barrier. He'd seen her before, but only in the dim light of the broom cupboard. Though the light in the room was low, it pooled across her. Freckles scattered across the creamy skin of her chest, and her nipples were a dusky rose. They rose up and down with her quickened breath.

Harry sighed. "You're beautiful," he told her. Their eyes met again, and then Harry plumped her breast in his hand and kissed it again. He took his time with each one, rolling her onto her back so he could appreciate both of them. Every once in a while, he paused to look, enjoying how tightly furled her nipples were.

She was gasping under him now. His erection throbbed, and he couldn't help pressing it into the sofa, biting back a groan at how good the pressure felt. She strained against him, restless, and without even thinking about it, Harry cupped her through her trousers. Her groan spurred him on, and he pulled back, undid the button, and tugged them down around her knees. He made to do the same with her knickers—

"Harry!" she said, jerking back a little.

He froze and looked up at her. She was up on her elbows and the sight of her – tousled and aroused – did very little to help him think clearly.

"You're still dressed," she said. "You're still completely dressed."

Harry stared at her, uncomprehending.

"I don't want to be… the only one naked," she said.

"Oh! Right," Harry said. The fog cleared a little. "I can remedy that." In moments, his shirt was over his head and his trousers were down. He kicked them off and onto the floor. The only thing he left on were his pants – not that they hid anything. His erection poked out of the flap.

When he resettled next to her, he was once more stretched out along her, their heads close together. As he kissed her, his fingers skimmed over her knickers. He didn't try to pull them off, just touched her. Her thighs widened in acceptance, and he rubbed her where he found dampness. She groaned into his mouth, and then  _her_ hand found  _him._

The throb of pleasure became so immediately, so intensely good—

_Don't you dare come. You're useless to me after._

Harry jerked back at the thought. "Ginny," he said hoarsely. Her hand was closed around him, stroking. "Ginny – I can't – don't. I'm going to come immediately."

"I don't mind, I want to make you come," she said.

The tension brought on by the intrusive thought lessened, but didn't go away completely. "I'll be useless, after," he said. "I want to make you come first."

"All right," she said.

The pressure on his penis lessened as she drew her hand away.

Harry returned to touching her. He must've found her sweet spot a moment or two later – her hips moved against him, restless. Their eyes met as Harry withdrew, and slid his hand inside her knickers. The hair was soft and damp. Her thighs widened further, and his fingers slid along wet folds, opening them. His thumb found her clit, and he rubbed it until she cried out.

"Harry, I need—"

"I know," he told her.

He found her opening and pushed a finger inside. A low, sexy groan rewarded him when he added another. It was a gentle rhythm he started with. Within a minute, it wasn't enough for her, and he pumped them in and out faster and faster. He never took his eyes off her face, memorizing how she looked as he pushed her toward climax. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she squeezed them tightly shut. A flush spread across her chest, and Harry urged her on.

Then her thighs snapped together, locking his hand in place, and she came.

Harry withdrew his hand once he was certain she was done. Her arm went around his neck, and she pulled him down for a long, deep kiss. It had him half on top of her, chests pressed together. It was Harry's turn to groan at the feel of her, mostly naked, and pressed tightly against him.

Her hand wrapped around him again.

"Ginny – I – you don't have to," he told her.

"I want to," she told him, exasperated.

It was over in an embarrassingly short amount of time. He couldn't help but thrust into her hand, groaning at every pass, until—

"Ginny, I'm going to – it – I'm…"

Despite the warning, she didn't withdraw, but kept up a rhythm until Harry gave a strangled cry, and came.

"I'm sorry," he said, once he'd come back to himself. He scrabbled at the back of the sofa, where he'd flung his shirt.

"Why in Merlin's name are you sorry?" Ginny asked.

Tightness constricted his chest. "It's messy. And a little gross," he told her.

"I don't care, that's what charms are for."

While he was swiping at her with his shirt, she was extremely unconcerned by whatever mess his come had made on her, and rolled over until she was wrapped around him. It became very difficult to feel guilty when she was kissing him, and telling him that was even better than the broom cupboard. Harry finally gave up, and adjusted them until their arms were wrapped around each other, their legs were tangled together, and Ginny's head nestled in the crook of his neck.

"There," she said, voice muffled and satisfied. "I was hoping it wasn't too much to ask to have  _my boyfriend_  just hold me, after."

"Not too much to ask," Harry said. "Not too much at all."

Ginny ran her hands over him, squirming. Harry stroked her back. He was going to have to leave, soon, otherwise he was going to fall asleep. Not that he didn't want to sleep here, but he was afraid he would forget about being patient and take them further than they were really ready to go. To distract himself from the desire building again - Ginny's subtle movements against him were not helping - he looked around the small room. The dress she'd worn to Slughorn's party lay over another chair. The ornament on the back caught the light.

"What's it called?" Harry murmured.

"What's what called?" Ginny asked.

"That pretty thing on the back of the dress you wore. The stars," Harry said.

"Oh..." said Ginny. "I don't know. Back necklace, maybe?"


End file.
